New Life
by Squirrel-ducky
Summary: After being rejected by Starling, Hannibal Lecter is left alone and reckless. When an attack takes an unexpected turn, he must adjust to a new kind of life. For better or for worse, Lecter now has a new purpose, a new student, a new... Mischa. Rated M for violence.
1. Introductions

This night was darker than Sally was used to. Things were different in the countryside; there was no light pollution, none of the background rumble that was inescapable in the city. From her position, dozing in the back seat, the only sound above the engine was her mother's incessant nagging, which melted into a high-pitched whine that really was not conducive to sleep. Her father's silhouette in the driver's seat remained stoic, and he did not respond, knowing that his input would only be disregarded.

To drown it out, Sally turned up the volume on her Walkman as far as it would go and buried her head into the window, insofar as that is possible. This meant that she wasn't aware of the kerfuffle until the car swerved and screeched to a halt. Sally's head hit the window with no small amount of force, and as the car's inside light flickered on, indicating an open door, she saw a spot of blood on the glass. She disregarded it in favour of turning to the commotion in the front seat.

* * *

Dr Lecter had stood stock still in the middle of the lane. He didn't try and look injured or in need of help, like they do in the movies; he just stood there, calmly, knowing that the car would either have to swerve or kill him. Either way suited him fine.

He saw the panic in the driver's eye as he came around the bend and saw Lecter there. The moment that the driver of the car jerked the wheel and attention had been diverted from him, Lecter moved swiftly and silently to the driver's door and opened it, with a slight bow, one hand extended to politely gesture to the man to leave. As he did so, he allowed the blade of his Harpy to slip forward from his sleeve slightly, the point of it coming to rest on his carpals. The light glinted off it. The woman in the passenger seat saw it and screamed, wrenching open her door and stumbling out of the car; but Lecter had anticipated this, and slammed the door on the driver's leg as he began to climb out, detaining him for the few moments he needed, and seemed to appear from nowhere in front of the woman, blocking her path. Before she could begin contemplating which way to run, Lecter had pulled a police-style truncheon from where he had fastened it inside his dinner jacket and bopped her on the head, just hard enough to knock her unconscious; he didn't want unnecessary damage to her body.

As she fell to the road, Lecter's ears pricked at the sound of footfalls inching around the car towards him and he could smell the remnants of cheap shampoo mixed with good cologne – a gift from a wealthy relative, perhaps. He waited until the air shifted decisively before spinning around to catch the driver's wrist as it flew towards his head. Taking hold of the wrist with his right hand, with his left he grasped the tall man's elbow and twisted the arm backwards until the man cried in pain and he, too, fell. Lecter tapped him on the head with his truncheon, just to be sure, and then returned his attention to the silent car.

* * *

Sally had watched the action with mixed emotions. While she had a fervent desire to help her parents, fear also rooted her to the spot. But there was something more – another, forbidden, emotion buried deep in her mind, which was admiration. A part of her mind noted the efficiency with which this man worked, the way he moved, how he had taken care not to hurt her mother beyond what he needed. This wasn't a reckless, rage-induced killing spree; it was something else. The man was calm. She did not understand. But she wanted to.

All other emotions were banished from her system, however, as the man slowly turned to face her, and she could feel his eyes, eyes that glowed red in the headlights, piercing her, and in that moment the only thing that Sally knew was fear.

The man straightened up and walked leisurely to her door. Sally's eyes stayed locked on his, unable to look away. As he moved out of the light, they grew darker, until they appeared almost black, like blood in the moonlight. The door was opened for her in the same manner as for her father, and, her eyes never leaving his, she climbed out as gracefully as she could, taking the proffered hand to steady herself. Her skin turned to gooseflesh, whether at the cooler air of the night or his touch, she could not tell. He wore thin, black leather gloves. Once Sally was on her feet, he closed the door behind her.

"Good evening," he said.

Sally's eyes widened very slightly. His voice… she could hear that it had once been rich, melodic, European, but now it reminded her of a caged bird let out after years of imprisonment – relishing in the newfound ability to stretch its wings but never able to return to the freedom and ease with which it once flew. But its gentleness also startled her. Here he was, a stranger who was in all probability about to murder her parents and herself for no other reason than because they were there, and yet he greeted her as cordially as if they were to dine together. He smiled, and that too was pleasant. The surreality of the situation warranted a few moments for Sally's brain to adjust itself and work out the correct response.

"Good evening," she replied, as steadily as possible while matching his intimate volume. He nodded slightly, acknowledging her response and grasp of the situation. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, the blood coursing through her veins and making her head throb. She felt dizzy, and thought she must be swaying slightly because the landscape didn't usually roll like that. Her increased heart rate also meant that more blood oozed out of the small wound on her forehead. The man must have noticed her light-headedness, as he moved to her side, offering his arm while pulling out a handkerchief from his breast pocket. Sally took his arm for two reasons: firstly, she really was about to faint; and secondly, if this night was going to end with her death, taking his arm couldn't actually make anything worse. The hand holding the handkerchief moved to her forehead and dabbed at the small pool of blood welling there. It was strange, but Sally also felt him move very close to her and, apparently, breathe deeply, inhaling the scent of her blood. The majority of her was confused (she was pretty sure that this wasn't normal serial killer behaviour), but a small and probably slightly hysterical part of her wondered what she smelt like. She turned her head to watch him. He had stopped looking at her, and was now casting his eyes about the car. Sally felt herself being led to the front passenger door, which he opened. He reached inside the car, and a twinge of fear shot through Sally's mind, but his hand only emerged holding her mother's pink water bottle that was sitting in the drink holder. This was opened and brought to her lips, which she obediently opened and immediately felt the cool liquid trickle between them. After a few mouthfuls, which calmed her burning, throbbing head, the water bottle was lowered and replaced in the car.

"Thank you," Sally murmured gratefully. He smiled. She did not know what to make of this man, who was so gentle with her before his murder.

* * *

And Dr Lecter did not know what to make of this girl, who, although riddled with fear, remained lucid and coherent, and responsive to the ministrations of one who, she must surely recognise, was about to take the lives of her and her parents. She reacted approvingly to courtesy and responded appropriately, as so few would, he knew.

The car door remained open, and he helped her inside.

"I hope you will not mind if I bind your wrists and ankles," Lecter said, with genuine concern; he despised the thought of restraining others after being restrained for so many years himself. The girl shook her head, and even obligingly held out her hands. Lecter pulled a length of cord from an inside jacket pocket and tied a complicated looking knot around them. "Not too tight?"

She wriggled her hands a little. Tight enough that she could not escape, but not so tight as to cut into her flesh or disrupt blood flow. The same applied to her ankles, before he shut the car door.

Now to the unconscious parents. Damn, he could have used the girl to help, but never mind. First the back passenger door was opened, and he moved the girl's Walkman to the centre island, out of the way, before returning to the prone body of the mother, who had fortunately not begun to stir. He bound her wrists and ankles with more cord before easily lifting her lithe frame from the ground and carefully depositing her, sitting, in the car. By the time he went to lift the father, the man's eyes were flickering open, so Lecter sighed and pulled out his truncheon, rapping him smartly on the head once again, hitting the spot to put him out with the least amount of force.

Once both parents were back in the car, Lecter moved to the driver's seat, where the key was still in the ignition. After driving the car not twenty yards down the road, he parked and walked back to the spot where it had previously come to rest. The loose gravel of this country road clearly showed where the car had swerved and halted, but was also easily manipulated to appear as though nothing had happened, which Lecter did. It took only a moment. He could feel the girl's eyes on him.

* * *

Sally realised what he was doing and watched his actions in her wing mirror. It was all so carefully planned out. A gravel road that wouldn't show tire tracks or footprints, a back road an hour each way to the nearest town, silent so that, if another car came, it could be easily dodged.

As these thoughts ran through Sally's mind, they led her to another thought that frightened her more than anything else that night: he had done this before. This was practiced. He knew precisely what he was doing because this was normal to him now.

What a strange brand of normality.

The car rocked slightly as he slid back into the driver's seat. Sally glanced around at her parents, but they were still unconscious. She noticed the man do the same. He was about to do up his seatbelt when a thought appeared to strike him, and he leaned across her, his gloved hand almost brushing her face, his head coming within inches of her own. She felt her eyelids join involuntarily, and inhaled deeply, before forcing her eyes open to turn and meet his. She did not want to take her eyes off of him for a moment, for reasons other than her fear of his blade. A calm numbness had come over her, and for this she was grateful. The fear was still there, but subdued now, hidden behind a curtain, like Duchamp's Fountain in an art gallery. The two sides of this monster intrigued her, and it was a more pleasant topic to occupy her thoughts than wondering which one of her parents he would kill first.

He remained in that position for a nanosecond longer than was necessary, his eyes never leaving hers, before leaning back to do the seatbelt up, and this gave Sally another idea that she wished she hadn't had – what if his… intentions, were not strictly _honourable_? She swallowed the thought, hard enough to make a small gulping sound. Her eyes were still on his. She wondered if he could guess at the nature of the noise. At that moment, he grinned.

"Do not worry, Sally. I have no intention of ravishing you tonight." She started slightly at his use of her name. As if to answer her unspoken question, Lecter graciously reached out to her once more and tucked the label of her cardigan back in, his fingers lightly caressing her neck. The touch sent shivers down her spine, and she hoped that he didn't interpret that as her shying away from him, and then wondered why she cared about his opinion. Even so, Sally sighed with relief, banishing the thought that maybe this was more targeted than she had originally imagined. A click announced that his seatbelt was done up, before the key turned in the ignition and they set off.

They had been driving for several minutes, taking seemingly random turns that led them almost in circles, before Sally could muster the courage to speak.

"Excuse me, but… where are we going?"

The man's eyes did not leave the road, but she could see a flash of canine behind his lip.

"I could tell you, but then I may have to kill you," he replied slyly. Sally conceded the point. The rest of the trip passed in silence.

* * *

After a ten minute drive that had culminated in a short scenic escapade through the forest, Hannibal Lecter turned off the road and pulled into a small woodland glade. It was not a place he had used before, but after scouting it out over several weeks he had deemed it suitable. The timing was just right – the woman in the backseat was beginning to stir as he switched off the engine. Once again he leaned across Sally as he returned her seatbelt to its former position, moving closer to her than need be. He enjoyed watching her reaction to his presence; it was unusual. Outwardly, she appeared quite calm, but he could smell her fear and sweat. He resolved to help her cool down.

Working in reverse order, he extracted the father from the car first, placing him on a comfortable-looking patch of ground. Moonlight would be of little use this night; a new cycle was beginning and it had hardly begun to wax. What little there was filtered through the canopy overhead. The main light source was the inside light of the car, which flickered unreliably, in need of a new bulb. The mother was more difficult to remove, as she was wriggling as she woke up and had twisted herself into an awkward position. Soon enough, she was placed next to her now-awakening husband on the earth.

It was then that Lecter allowed his attention to turn back to Sally, who was still sitting quietly in the front seat, although her eyes now showed sadness at the sight of her parents, bound and helpless. Lecter opened her door and slipped one hand behind the small of her back and the other under her knees, flashing her an apologetic glance. Carefully, so as not to hit her head on the door, he lifted her out of the passenger seat, shut the door with his foot, and sat her on the ground, propped against the car.

"I hope you don't mind, but I will have to leave those restraints as they are. Can't have you running off now, can we?" he murmured with a friendly wink.

* * *

Sally was impressed with his strength as he picked her up. She was not as lean as she should be, she knew, but he moved with ease, with a grace that she would not have expected. Again, his gentleness and the care with which he manoeuvred her shocked her; she still could not match this with the murdering psychopath she knew he would soon be revealed as.

What caught her off guard the most was the wink. It was so genial, as though she were an old friend with whom he had just shared a secret, or, perhaps, a woman he were wooing. Her mind wandered back to her earlier thought about dishonourable intentions. But then she looked back up at him, once more into his eyes, and knew that she could disregard it. She saw no longing there. Only a strange emptiness.

"Are you hot?" he asked, jerking her back to reality. She quickly assessed herself and realised that she was sweating, and that yes, actually, she was at a less than comfortable temperature.

"Y-yes," she stammered, cursing herself for letting her voice break. She had been doing so well. Her confusion at how he had anticipated her needs before she even knew she needed them had shown through.

"Then, if you'll excuse me," and with that, he undid the cord around her wrists and reached around her, almost in an embrace, to slip off her cardigan. He folded it and placed it on the roof of the car, before stooping once again to retie her bonds. Sally had been discomforted by her ponytail digging into her as her head rested against the car; he had obviously noticed this as well, and placed one hand on the back of her head to hold her hair and cause minimal pain while the other pulled out her hair tie, which he left on top of her cardigan.

"Thank you," Sally said, gazing up at him, not wanting to be rude; he had shown her kindness, after all. And with a last smile at her and a slight incline of the head, the monster turned away from her and back towards her parents, a knife sliding forth from his sleeve with the handle coming to rest in the palm of his hand. Sally swallowed. She now knew for certain that she would be last, and for this she was glad; she did not want her parents to have to see their daughter murdered. But now she must endure their deaths. This was not going to be easy. She was thankful for the continued emotional numbness, and hoped like hell that it would last.

* * *

As the woman had been the first to rouse herself, Lecter thought he may as well kill her first. But just before he took hold of her head, he paused. This was an entirely new level that he was going to. The others had been people he knew, or knew of, who had slighted him in some way, or, better yet, were serial killers themselves. But random strangers, and one so young as the girl? Is this really what he had become? A reckless killer?

Lecter had not really stopped to think like this in a long time. Not since– well. He did not think on that. It was a survival instinct.

And yet it had driven him to this. This was not healthy. This was not him. He had become so bored by what society had to offer that he had retreated within himself, to his memory palace, where he could live quite comfortably – except when he needed to eat.

This aspect of his personality had inflamed since _she_ left. Caution had been thrown to the winds, and he simply did not care anymore; in the past, before his incarceration and after his escape, his cannibalism had been the only aspect of his life that he had tempered. It was necessary to be careful, if he wished to keep his freedom and find _her_ again. But now… why should he be denied this? To cause others the pain that he had been caused. It was as though every death brought him a little respite, a little revenge, a little bit of Mischa back to him. Maybe, if he killed, if he _ate_ enough, then every piece of her would be avenged and she would be able to come back to him. It seemed as likely as anything else at that point. And anything was worth that.

And this is why Hannibal Lecter found himself standing behind his soon-to-be dinner and disregarding his doubts as the woman screamed and tried to throw herself away from him; but he was too fast for her. He grabbed her hair and jerked her head back, she still screaming, tears coursing over her face as Lecter lowered his hand to her neck and cut her throat in one practiced, fluid movement. A few moments longer and the screaming ceased.

" _NO!_ "

Lecter's head turned to the source of the cry and his eyes found Sally, now lying twisted after obviously having tried to launch herself forwards to save her mother. He lowered the still bleeding body to the grass and moved past Sally's stirring father to her. She cringed away from his touch but he continued, and sat her upright against the car once more. Her face was smeared with dirt from where it had hit the ground, and streaked clean by tears. Lecter pulled out his handkerchief from a pocket and cleaned as much as he could without commanding her to ' _spit_ '. Without saying a word to her, he turned back to her father. The man looked at him with loathing in his eyes, before he spoke for the first time, and there was a glimmer of hope in his voice.

"Please. Show some remorse. Don't kill her," he nodded at Sally. " _Please_." He spoke bluntly, without ornamentation. That sort of thing had no place here.

Lecter heard Sally begin to sob, but did not turn. Instead, he cocked his head, and a strange smile played about his lips, showing his sharp, white teeth. His tongue flicked over his lips, moistening them before he spoke as he stepped towards the father.

"No… I think I _shall_. It would be such a shame to tear a family apart, don't you think?" And with that, a hungry look took over his features and he murdered Sally's father. He let the body fall.

* * *

The tears fell. She let them. Cries emerged from her throat, tearing at her vocal chords. She let them. Sally knew that she needed to get all the emotions out of her system, so she let them emerge unchecked, trying to get it over with as quickly as possible.

As the body of her father landed with a thump on the dry earth, the last tear fell and she swallowed the lump in her throat. Enough now. The monster was inhaling deeply and she knew she had only seconds before his "attentions" were on her. Sally focussed on slowing her heart rate and not being red and puffy-eyed. She was not sure how well she succeeded.

Only a few seconds later, he slowly spun. The moonlight glinting off his blade reflected in his eyes and they flashed blood red in her direction. Sally gulped. He took one step towards her, and then another. Sally knew she had to do something but for the life of her she didn't know what it was. He continued moving towards her and her mind raced, wheels spinning faster with every step he took.

But nothing came. She had no idea what to do. Helpless, alone, Sally was going to die. The man raised his knife.

And brought it down, severing the bonds around her wrists.

There was silence. A pause for a few seconds, and Sally opened her eyes, unsure whether or not she was actually still alive. The man's maroon eyes were still there. This was definitely not heaven.

But it was not hell either.

Ah, life.

Another slash and her feet were free. The man extended his hand and gently helped her to her feet. Sally stood, graciously, and blinked several times. Her hand was still being held. It led her to the middle of the glade. Sally's hand fell as he stepped back. A ray of moonlight fell on her face. He bowed his head for a moment, as if in apology. Sally understood. He was being kind, but this was her end. They both knew it.

She had one chance.

He raised his blade.

"Wait."

She spoke calmly. Her heart raced, but she ignored it. The blade remained in the air. This was invitation enough. She raised her hands in a placating gesture.

"Please. Please, sir, humour me for a moment. I understand what is going on here, at least to a very basic degree. I understand that I am about to die, but, I confess, I do not understand why. This is why I now ask you to stop, and consider – why are you going to kill me? You have already taken my parents, is that not enough?

"But I also realise that I cannot just walk away from this. You could not let me do that; although I swear to you upon my mother's life that I would not breathe a word to anyone – 'it all happened so fast, I must have blacked out, it's too painful' – there would always be a risk, and that's too much.

"And so, I offer myself to you, in exchange for my life. I am yours, to do with what you will – servant, concubine, friend, companion, accessory to the fact; I will do it, and you may know that you can trust me completely as you have given me the ultimate gift of life, which I could never repay. I put it to you – and I leave it to you."

Her plea finished, Sally waited. Her heart pounded, too hard, unhealthily, she felt like she was going to be sick but fought back the sensation. She was stronger than that; she had watched the deaths of her parents and pleaded for her own life and she was damned if she would throw up now. For now, there was nothing she could do; only wait. So she waited, and watched his eyes.

* * *

Lecter listened to Sally speak with a blank expression, but inside he allowed himself a smile. She did not falter, despite the fact that he had kept the hand holding the Harpy raised threateningly. She had fire, that was for sure, and she could keep it in check, which was even rarer. She also kept a cool head, had a basic grasp of culture, as well as having better English skills than most people twice her age. Perhaps, there was promise there. It may be fun, an amusement to ease the daily monotony. And he could always just kill her at a later date if/when she became tiresome. He held onto that thought. Just because he took her in did not give him any obligation towards her. But better not to let her know his decision just yet; better to see how devoted she was to the cause.

When she had finished speaking, Lecter did not move for several long moments. Then the tip of his tongue appeared, just touching the centre of his upper lip before disappearing back.

"Why do you only appeal now? Why not earlier, to save your parents?" He needed to test her, and thought it best to start small and work his way up. She thought for a moment.

"Because, if I did that, it would be a straight trade, my life for theirs, or one of theirs at least. But then what for them? I would have no way of knowing if you'd even kept to your side and let them live. And then they would have to go through the torture of seeing their only child murdered right in front of them, and live through the pain afterwards. By not speaking earlier and allowing them to die, I know that I gained some power over matters of life and death, which I should not have; but then again, neither should you, so I guess we're even."

 _Well done_

"In the first place, once I have given my word then you may trust me to keep it at all costs," Lecter began in reply. "In the second, I commend your bravery and, indeed, your stupidity at choosing to take that burden away from your parents and bear it yourself." Sally shrugged.

"I'll get over it."

Lecter's eyes narrowed.

"Indeed."

For a minute, the only sounds were the sounds made by very small creatures who think that no one's listening.

"And now you freely offer yourself up for a fate 'worse than death'. What would mummy and daddy make of that?" Lecter's eyes bored into Sally's. He was intrigued, but revealed to her only power and hinted at less-than-honourable intentions, of which in truth he had none. She didn't look away, but she did blink more often than perhaps was normal, before slowly shrugging again.

"You may do with me what you will; that is your decision, and not within my power." Her tone of voice was careful, and the doctor read in it what he was meant to: she was willing to be submissive to his every whim, no matter how disdainful, and she gave him permission to have full control over her life. It was an interesting and tempting prospect; but one with which he would tire quickly. Perhaps he could coax some of that fire out of her. That would be much more fun.

"Why should I?" he said, and then his voice changed, to a tone that could puncture steel. "A _girl_ like you, trying to convince the world you are something you're not, and thereby convince yourself? But you can't change what you are, and you know _exactly_ what you are, as well as I do. Desperate to get away from these people who can also see you for what you are, but they don't give you the pity you deserve, and instead they exploit you to breaking point, to the point where you'll do anything to get out, get anywhere, get all the way into the hands of a cannibalistic serial killer and see it as an improvement. You have no physical scars, but your mental ones? They must run deep. How far did they go, hmm? These boys whose approval you so desperately seek, who saw your affection and did not care about the consequences–"

It was at this point that Sally, very emphatically, did not strike him. She did not lash out, did not attempt to hit him in any way, but Lecter could feel the blow her eyes dealt his just as heavily as if she had thrown a wild boar at him. And then she just stood, and he could almost hear the anger draining from her as she strove to find peace once more. He was, dare I say, impressed. And in that moment, his decision was made.

"Dr Hannibal Lecter, at your service," Dr Lecter said, stepping back and executing a low, sweeping, and, above all, overly-dramatic bow. He was pleased to note the slight widening of her eyes at the revelation of his identity. "I dare say you've heard of me."

* * *

Sally cleared her throat, swallowing her fear as understanding gripped her.

"Sally Barron," she said. His dark eyes sparkled.

"Still willing to give yourself up to me?" he asked. Sally nodded slowly. "Goood. Alrighty, then, I accept your offer, and in return you may have your life, at least for a time. However, if you know my name then you know my… _tendencies_. I accept your plea, but in return you must show me that you are committed…" Sally's mind leapt from conclusion to conclusion and none of them seemed very promising. She waited for him to say more, but he was silent, head cocked to one side, eyes roaming across her features. Almost so suddenly as to make her jump, Dr Lecter turned around, moving towards the body of her mother. He crouched down next to her head. Sally could not see what happened next, but after a few moments he stood up to face her. The knife once again concealed in its resting place up his sleeve, Hannibal "the Cannibal" Lecter held out his hands to her. Sally made very sure that her expression did not change as she looked into them. She looked back over to her mother to confirm, but yes; he held, one in each hand, her mother's cheeks – one for himself, the other clearly for her. _Well_ , a small voice said in the back of her mind, _the cheeks are supposed to be the best meat on an animal. Le plus haute cuisine_. Sally blinked slowly a few times, before raising her eyes to his face. He was watching her calmly, waiting for her reaction. At last, Sally spoke.

"Can I have it cooked?"


	2. Adjusting

Six months into Sally's new life, Hannibal Lecter gave her a present.

Lecter had always prided himself on being a good host, and his duties as such never slipped; thus, Sally had found herself well-cared and –provided for. She had slept in a comfortable bed in a decent-sized room, and he'd taken the lock off the door after the first week; Sally had no intention of trying to escape. After two weeks, she had been allowed to go out into the grounds, which were more extensive than she would have imagined. The house was in a valley with pine forests on every side and a river running through it, in which she could swim. Sally detested running, but had started going for eventually lengthy runs through the grounds, even venturing up into the forest. There was never any discussion of how far she was allowed to go, but a vague understanding that she would not leave the valley, something that she was not sure she could manage even if she tried; about halfway up the hills, the terrain became rough and prone to falling trees and shifting earth. There was, of course, the road, but Sally disregarded that, because the simple truth was that she knew that escape was futile – Lecter would hunt her down, and this time he would not be so merciful. She had never complained of her treatment, and always did everything that was asked of her, which admittedly wasn't much. He spoke rarely, and she followed his lead; yet she had become comfortable in his presence, and she had found happiness, of a sort.

Every day, Lecter left the house for around an hour, sometimes two, generally to buy groceries and other supplies. This was usually early in the morning, before Sally rose, and it was the crunch of wheels on gravel that woke her up each day. On her first day in the house, Lecter had been away for several hours before returning with four or five bags full of new clothes, shoes, underwear, and toiletries for her. Sally was mildly shocked by this for a number of reasons: that he had the foresight to do this; that he cared enough to do so; and also that everything fit perfectly, including the bras, which was slightly concerning. The clothes were all high quality and far more expensive than anything Sally had previously owned. She had helped him carry the bags to her room and thanked him for them. Lecter merely nodded in reply and left, leaving Sally in a mild heaven of new clothes to try on, an activity which occupied her for the next hour.

Sally was pretty sure that she had seen most of the house. She didn't dare go exploring on her own, even when Lecter was out; she had been quick to establish the fact that he had an inhuman sense of smell and was pretty sure that he would be able to smell her in a room hours after she'd been there. But, as time went by, she had been introduced to more and more of the house until only the third floor remained; here was where Lecter resided, with his bedroom, bathroom, and large study. Sally's favourite room in the house was the library, and this was where she spent most of her time when not required to be anywhere else. Lecter had amassed an incredible collection of books, although when and how he came by them was not something that Sally wished to know. There were many works of great literature, books of plays and poetry, in English as well as several other languages, books of medical theories, philosophy, psychiatry, history, art, and several which Sally found to have actually been written by the doctor himself. She tried reading one of these, but quickly gave up, as she knew that it was way beyond her comprehension. The literature was her main focus, enjoying especially the works of Dickens and Milton, but what most pleased Lecter was her great interest in Italy – its art and architecture, literature, and language. Thus began her instruction in Italian, which was slow to begin with. As Lecter discovered, she spoke conversational French and German, which was both a help and a hindrance, as she continued to break into them when trying to speak. After three months, however, of daily tuition, and one month of Lecter refusing to speak anything but Italian to her, Sally was fluent, and this brought about two events: the first was her graduation into learning Italian poetry and literature, particularly that of Dante Alighieri, and art history of the same period. The second was the first English words she had heard in a month, which took a surprisingly long time to comprehend, and that was Lecter's announcement that she could accompany him shopping the next day, if she chose.

This caused an undue amount of excitement in Sally's mind. Adrenaline coursed through her body at the thought. She had not expected to react this way; being confined to the valley had never particularly bothered her, but the thought of leaving was both exhilarating and terrifying. There was a persistent little thought at the back of her mind that told her that she would do something to screw it up and blow their cover. And this thought sparked another internal debate.

Why did she care about blowing their cover? And why was it _their_ cover? Surely it was only his. But it hit Sally then more than it ever had before that this was her life now. Her parents were dead (something she rarely allowed herself to think on, especially after having eaten her mother's left cheek (which hadn't actually tasted that bad)), the newspapers that Lecter bought each day declared that the search for her body was officially over, and she was content. She no longer felt lonely, not that she ever particularly had. Lecter was her entire world now, more than she would care to admit, and she had had a better life with him than with her parents. She was content, and realised then that she didn't want to leave, and would do whatever she could to protect the life she had there.

Despite this, exhilaration was the more dominant of the emotions. At his words, Sally had reacted instinctively and hugged him, this being a relic from her life as an ordinary teenage girl. Lecter did not move, he merely stood there and waited for it to cease. Physical contact had been something that had been denied to both of them until now, for various reasons; Sally was still scared about what might happen if she did, while Lecter's reasons were far more complex and known only to him.

It was a few seconds before Sally realised the enormity of what she had just done. Three seconds had been pure excitement, but the fourth was breathing him in and revelling in a closeness she had not experienced since That Night. When this had passed, however, Sally sprang back with a hurried apology and bowed her head. She hoped that he would not punish her for this (not that he had ever punished her for anything and she thought it unlikely) and deny her the excursion. Lecter did not speak, so Sally raised her head again to regard his face, which had not changed except for a gentle shift in his eye that Sally had learned denoted faint amusement. She let her face settle into something more calm than the tense image it must have been and, when he still did not say anything, she bowed her head slightly by way of parting and walked up the stairs to her room, emerging just moments later in her running gear. It was an hour before she returned, red in the face, but having used up most of her adrenaline. Dinner was almost ready, and she just had time for a shower before Lecter set it on the table. Sally didn't know what it was, but it smelt delicious and she didn't ask; her culinary career had been cut short when she had set half the kitchen on fire the previous month and had not been allowed in since.

* * *

In all honesty, Lecter found the girl somewhat tiresome, but only somewhat. Despite his original interest in her, which he still maintained through her continual ability to surprise him in different ways, she was still only a girl, and occasionally behaved as such. Her inability to learn as instantly as he once had frustrated him. Only once had she thrown a tantrum, shortly after he had begun to speak only in Italian and she was floundering, and the fact that he did not rise and become as angry as she was infuriated her further. She had stormed off to her room and not left for around twenty-four hours, which Lecter thought quite impressive, as he knew that she had no supplies there. Then he had heard her footsteps plodding down the stairs, and she went into the kitchen and took out the plate of food he had left for her in the fridge, and sat down next to him at the dining room table, where he was reading a newspaper. She did not apologise, but deflected back to calling him 'sir' for several days. And she was impervious to his insults. This had intrigued him, as stronger people than her had collapsed into tears after a few sentences, but not Sally. She appeared to agree with what he said, accept it, and move on. This complete knowledge of herself was something that Lecter was drawn to, as he could well associate with it. It also gave him the opportunity to speak his mind without having to worry about floods of tears.

The real reason, one which he could hardly admit to himself, that Lecter had kept Sally was that she reminded him of Mischa. Not in the physical sense, and certainly not that she was the correct age, but primarily because of the way she looked at him. Sally was never so open about it as Mischa had been, obviously, but Lecter could see in her eyes and read in her body language the fact that she absolutely adored him and looked to him as an example. And yes, he had come to feel protective over her. He would be sad if something were to happen to her, and this was a new concept that took some consideration to get his head around. For many, many years, Hannibal Lecter had worked alone and fought only to protect himself. Then, the one time he had made himself vulnerable and put his trust in another human being, he had been abandoned and left distressed, helpless and handless. He wasn't sure whether or not he was quite ready to trust Sally, but he knew that she could trust him with anything as long as his recapture wasn't concerned.

The bond that Lecter felt with Sally was the only reason why his harpy did not descend from his sleeve when she launched herself at him. That was his instinct, and he had to fight against it, for he knew that there was no danger. This was why he stood calmly, patiently, waiting for it to end. He was tempted for a moment to put his arms around her in return, but was not certain what either of their next moves would be, so decided to wait it out. Yet it pleased him that she had reached this new level of comfort, if only subconsciously.

After her departure he began dinner, his mind musing far away. He wondered if he were right in his decision to reward her proficiency in such a way; he wondered if she were ready for an excursion to the outside world. But, despite the four months it had taken to learn Italian, Sally had otherwise proven herself to have a quick brain and Lecter had faith that she would work through it. He would brief her over dinner; he had his own identity and he had worked her into that over the months as his daughter, which seemed vaguely age-appropriate. If she did not seem up to the task by nightfall, then he could always postpone.

* * *

While Lecter was debating whether or not Sally would cope in the outside world, Sally had much more important problems on her mind – what to wear. She had not seen the outside world in six months, but nor had the world seen her. Lecter had provided her with a moderately large store of clothing, and while showering she internally raided her closet, knowing that she would not physically have a chance to do so until well after dinner. So many options… but of course, the weather would play a large part and she didn't know the forecast. She tried to put it out of her mind.

Sally had quickly learned that Lecter was from an upper-class family (she had tried to amass more knowledge from the library, but alas), and as such dinner was a slightly more formal affair. To this end, she ignored the slacks she had spent the day in and instead chose a knee-length dress, leaving her hair out to dry. She sat down at the table just as Lecter placed her food in front of her, and smiled her thanks at him. They ate in silence. Sally was waiting for Lecter to bring it up, as he was bound to do, but he was quiet until Sally had cleared the table, as was her habit. When she returned, he spoke.

"As you will be aware, on our excursion tomorrow you will no longer be Sally Barron. Hopefully, it is unlikely that you will have to speak, or give or prove your identity at all. But on the off-chance that you are called upon to name yourself, you will need to be prepared." Here he paused, and Sally nodded, eyes bright with anticipation. "To this end, you will be my daughter, Aliss O'Connor, who has just finished her education at a boarding school on the other side of the country, and you have now returned home for the holidays before university, where you will study English literature and Italian. I see no reason to tell you more than this; your knowledge of both these topics should suffice if you are questioned. As for the rest, you may improvise." Sally felt his eyes on hers, making sure that she was listening. As if she wouldn't be. She nodded slowly.

"Alright, _dad_ ," she said, vaguely mischievously. He shot her a sharp glance.

"I am your _father_ , Aliss. You would do well to remember it," he said coldly. She laughed.

"Sorry, _father_."

* * *

The evening passed slowly. Sally, willing for tomorrow to come, spent it trying on every item of clothing she possessed, until a small "yes" pile and a rather larger "no" pile had collected on the floor. By this time it was 10pm, so she decided to give up and go to bed, after putting away all the clothes first, of course. Lecter would have a fit if he saw her wearing something that was creased and rumpled and had clearly been on the floor all night.

When the floor was clear, she looked around the room and walked to the vanity. In the top drawer was a small box containing a few items of jewellery that she hadn't touched since she had arrived at _casa Lecter_ – a friendship ring, a necklace with a cameo rose that her mother had given to her, and her favourite earrings, a cup and saucer. There was also the silver bracelet that Lecter had given her; she wasn't sure why, it had just turned up in her room one day. She looked at them for a while, and then placed the open box on top of the vanity. She was about to close the draw when something caught her eye – there was a second box in there. Sally reached in and pulled it out, and then laughed. Lecter was always far more organised than she anticipated. He had provided her with a box of blonde hair dye and, when she opened it and took out its contents, a pair of scissors. The mirror showed her reddish-brown hair, falling over her face and below her shoulders.

"Sure," she muttered, smiling. "Why not?"

An hour later, her cropped blonde hair still wet from the shower, she climbed into bed and waited for hours for sleep to come.

* * *

The stairs creaked just as Lecter finished preparing breakfast, and he looked up to see Sally trying very hard to not fall down them in her excitement. He rolled his eyes and set their plates on the breakfast bar, which he despised but which was stubbornly the only place Sally would sit for breakfast. She grinned widely at him. Lecter raised an eyebrow at her hair and nodded slightly. He knew she was waiting for his opinion.

"Do you like it?"

He shrugged.

"It could be worse."

Lecter took his time preparing to go out, while Sally sat on the couch, impatiently fiddling with the hem of her dress. When the dishes were done and he had put on his shoes, he led Sally out to the car, locking the house behind them.

* * *

This was the first time that Sally had been in Lecter's car since he first brought her to the house and the fawn leather interior brought back memories that it took a moment to suppress. This was not a time for pain. She put them out of her mind.

Sally had wondered whether or not Lecter would blindfold her for the journey, but he made no mention of such things. Her heart leapt slightly – he trusted her enough to not give away their location. Such trust was hard to earn from a man like him, she knew. They journeyed in silence for ten or so minutes.

"Could we turn on the radio?"

"Only if I can choose the station." Sally was fine with that; she enjoyed Lecter's taste in music.

Instead of the radio, he put on a cassette of Bach's suites for solo cello. After No. 3, Sally reached out to turn it over, eager to hear more, but Lecter stayed her hand. She had become so absorbed in the music that she had failed to notice the change in scenery around them.

They had arrived in the large town of Alberton. Sally gazed hungrily at the shops, the streetlamps, and the people, the people who strolled around, thoughtlessly going about their daily lives without a care in the world, not having to worry about being a fugitive or hiding their identity. Sally disliked and envied them, just a little bit.

Lecter turned onto a side street and parked. He got out and walked around to Sally's side of the car, opening the door for her to get out. She climbed out, accepting his proffered hand, and breathed deeply the smell of the polluted, smoke-ridden air. Her nose crinkled.

"I think I like home better," she said to Lecter. _I just called it home_ , she thought. _Interesting._

The first stop they made was at a charcuterie called Big Bad Wolf. Sally waited in a corner while he perused the displays and tried not to inhale the overpowering smell of flesh. Despite having lived with Lecter, or maybe because of it, she was still not a huge fan of raw meat.

* * *

Lecter led a somewhat wide-eyed Sally around four other shops, and she was not required to speak a word. It was not until their last destination, an organic vegetable shop, when Frank the shopkeeper greeted Lecter warmly with a hearty handshake and then turned in surprise to Sally, who was carrying all of their previous acquisitions.

"Is this your daughter, John? You've finally brought her out to meet me, eh?"

"Yes, she's just completed school and will be going to university after the summer."

"Well it's lovely to finally meet you… uh…"

"Aliss," Sally said, barely missing a beat. Lecter breathed again. "Nice to meet you too." She shook his still outstretched hand.

"Which university will you be going to?"

"We're still waiting to hear back from several, aren't we Aliss?" Lecter cut in, looking pointedly at Sally.  
"Y-yes, we are. Hopefully they'll reply soon," Sally said. "I'm going to do a double major in English Literature and Italian," she pressed on excitedly, before either man could ask. "I'm really looking forward to it, I also want to try and take some Music and German papers to brush up–" she could feel Lecter's gaze boring into her soul and realised that now would be a good time to stop talking before she became overexcited. She abruptly stopped speaking and coughed awkwardly.

Frank's eyes flicked apprehensively between Lecter and Sally, noticing the tension between them. He licked his lower lip nervously.

"…well that sounds just great, I hope you enjoy your studies! Although I'm sure I'll see you around here again soon anyway," Frank said, trying to bring the conversation back to its light-hearted beginning.

"Thanks," Sally mumbled. Lecter, sensing her disheartenedness, then cut in and began enquiring after Frank's opinion on eggplants. He kept his tone light but knew that Sally could feel his slight disappointment in her. When Frank went to the storeroom to find his fresh stock of artichoke hearts, he turned to Sally. Looking heartbroken, she mouthed, " _Sorry!_ " at him. This was her one chance and she'd let him down. Lecter held her gaze for several moments longer before his eyes softened and he reached out and gently touched her shoulder. He felt her body relax. Her face brightened slightly as Frank returned. She remained quiet until Lecter had paid and they were about to leave the shop.

"I'll see ya next week John, and nice to meet you Aliss!" Frank said enthusiastically, shaking first Lecter's hand and then holding his out to Sally. She took it gladly, hiding the shiver that went down her spine at the touch of another human being.

"Nice to meet you too, Frank," she said smiling.

"Goodbye, Frank," Lecter said with a curt nod of his head, and they turned to leave. He heard Sally breathe a tiny sigh of relief as he held the door open for her and smiled to himself.

"Oh, John?"

Lecter turned back and caught the door before it closed. Frank was standing in the door to the storeroom, beckoning to him, before disappearing back in there himself. Lecter's nostrils flared. Something was wrong.

"Wait in the car," he murmured to Sally, handing her the key. She nodded, and moved off to where they had parked. Lecter blinked slowly, inclined his head, and walked inside.

* * *

The door closed with a clatter behind Lecter, causing Sally to look back. She knew something was wrong. She hadn't seen Lecter look like that in a long, long time, and she knew what it meant. Somehow, he felt threatened, and now he was going into predatorial mode and Sally was worried.

As she was still carrying all of their groceries, Sally did indeed return to the car. She put the items in the boot and then searched the car to see if Lecter had any handy hidden weapons that she could borrow. Surprisingly, and somewhat disappointingly, she did not find any, so she decided to drive the car back to the shop. The fact that she didn't know how to drive was irrelevant. Time was of the essence.

* * *

Lecter followed Frank into the storeroom and quietly shut the door behind him.

"Ah, John. Come over here." Frank was hidden behind some shelves towards the back of the room.

"Yes, Frank? Did I forget something?" Lecter walked forward until he was in sight of Frank.

"The thing is, John," Frank said, and whipped out a gun which he aimed straight at Lecter's heart. "The thing is that I recognise that girl. She's been all over the news. Yeah, she's had a haircut and lost half her body weight, but that's still her. It's still Sally Barron. Now, I don't know who you think you are but the police are on their way, and don't you try anything before they get here because I'll shoot you through the shoulder, so help me God." His hand shook slightly. Lecter took a step forward, and Frank instinctively stepped back.

"How very… brave of you, Frank. But you are mistaken! That's not this Sally of which you speak, it's my daughter. Your notion is absurd." Lecter's voice was light but his eyes were fire. He continued walking towards Frank, who was backing away. They were headed to the back door. "Sally Barron died with her parents six months ago."

"And that's the same time you started talking about your daughter. Odd, isn't it? But they never found Sally's body. I'm not stupid, John—" _Really?_ thought Lecter. "—I can put two and two together." His back hit the door but Lecter continued forwards. Frank desperately scrambled for the door handle behind him, finally locating it and stepping back into the sunlight. Lecter followed him.

"No gunshots out here, Frank. Don't want to alarm anyone, do we? And no security cameras either, that was a bit of an oversight, don't you think—" Lecter's arm shot out, aiming for the gun while he dodged the bullet that came when Frank pulled the trigger, startled by Lecter's sudden movement. It grazed his arm. He didn't even feel it. His fingers closed around the barrel and he jerked it out of Frank's grip, tossing it away.

Already, he could hear people coming. There wasn't much time.

* * *

Sally parked the car in the next block, then heard the gunshot and began to run. She headed around behind the shop, but stopped at the corner of the building. It would be foolish to rush in. Dropping to her stomach (because no one notices a head at ground level), she peered around the corner. The gun was just a few feet away from her. Then she looked up at the two men and her eyes widened in horror. Lecter's right eye was bruised and as she watched, Frank kicked him in the stomach and he fell to the ground. Sally was shocked. That wasn't like Lecter at all. Frank stood over him now. He said something that Sally couldn't hear and then he climbed on top of Lecter, one leg either side of his chest, arm drawn back for a punch. Sally darted up from her position and grabbed the gun, looked at it, terrified, for a moment, and then held it by the barrel.

"Oi!" Frank looked around in surprise.

"Sally, it's okay, I—"

"You stay away from him, you bastard," she said, and hit him across the forehead with the stock of the gun. He fell to the ground, unconscious. Sally quickly helped Lecter up.

"We don't have much time."

"I know." He glanced around quickly. "Help me." He picked up Frank's legs, Sally grabbed his arms.

"I brought the car, it's in the next block outside Big Bad Wolf." Lecter nodded. Together they hauled the body away, running as inconspicuously as they could, knowing that they only had seconds before someone spotted them. Sally kept a hold on the gun.

They moved behind several other shops before rounding the corner towards the street again. Sally dropped Frank's arms and got down on her stomach again to check the street. Lecter raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. As she'd hoped, there was a press of people surrounding Frank's shop, which meant that no one was looking their way. Straightening up, Sally walked briskly to the street and then across the road to the car. She brought it around and backed it up into the driveway Lecter was standing in, popping the boot. They quickly threw Frank in and then Lecter got back into the driver's seat, barely waiting for Sally to close the door before driving off around the corner. He heard police sirens behind them.

"I was fine, you know. I had him under control," Lecter said. Sally scoffed.

"Under control? He was about to kill you! Probably would've done if I hadn't been there," she said, slightly smugly. Lecter rolled his eyes, but remained silent. There was a lengthy pause, then something appeared to occur to him.

"Sally?"

"Yes?"

"Don't you ever drive my car again."

* * *

By the time they got home, Frank had woken up and was banging on the roof of the boot. Sally looked at Lecter, concerned.

"You wait in the house," he said. Sally did not need to be told twice.

She didn't ask what was for dinner that night.

* * *

Much later, around midnight, Lecter went out again. He was going back to Frank's shop, just to "clean things up," he said. It was around 2am when he returned to find Sally sitting in exactly in the same place on the couch, staring at nothing. She had been unusually quiet all evening. Not that she was normally particularly chatty, but her mood was subdued.

Lecter was not troubled by this. The events of the day had no doubt reminded her of her former life, as well as the fact that she had assisted in the kidnap and murder of Frank the shopkeeper, and naturally she was now contemplative of her current life and situation. She would emerge eventually.

* * *

Part of Sally's approach to living with Lecter had been to simply push all thoughts of her friends and her parents' death from her mind: if she ignored them, then she could pretend that they had never happened, and so survive.

But their day had brought everything flooding back. Sally began to wish that Lecter had just killed her along with her parents all those months ago. Everything she had learned while with him was forgotten; the fact that she was now a much better person was pushed aside. She didn't want this anymore. She wanted to have her friends back and go to the movies, have stupid arguments, and complain about school, not help attack and kill someone. Most of all Sally wanted to scream. She settled for politely excusing herself from the table and stepping upstairs, to the study with the piano. She felt safer upstairs.

Although Sally could not play the piano at all, she liked to sit at it and think. She closed her eyes and saw Lecter sitting in her place, playing. Sally loved to watch him play. She could hear him now, the notes etched into her memory.

When the last notes had faded into silence, Sally opened her eyes and looked down at the ivory that was now speckled with tears. Mindlessly, she stood up and made her way to her own room, where she stood for a moment before picking up the glass of water from her bedside table and hurling it across the room with a scream, where it smashed against the wall. Almost before the shards had fallen, Sally had collapsed onto the ground where she stayed, sobbing, for several minutes.

* * *

Lecter did not wince at the breaking glass; nor did he make any movement to acknowledge that he had heard it at all. He remained perfectly still, seated on the couch in the lounge room, reading _Lolita_. Ridiculous story, but written with delicious style. The best thing to do was to wait. The girl would make up her own mind eventually.

He did not have to wait long.

* * *

The feeling of despair did not last. Sally's tears quickly dried up, for the most part, and at that moment there was only one place that she wanted to be: in the arms of another human being.

Breaking the taboo of physical contact for the second time in as many days, and not giving a damn about whether or not Lecter would actually let her do this, Sally went back downstairs towards the man who had both saved and ruined her life. She found him in the lounge and climbed onto the couch next to him, lifting his left arm and putting it around her so that she could rest her head on his shoulder. She snuggled into him, stifling the occasional sob, and breathed deeply as she felt warm and safe once again.

* * *

Lecter allowed his arm to be manipulated, only slightly raising an eyebrow in response. It took him a moment to realise her intentions, and he bit back on his cutting remark as an unexpected wave of sympathy overcame him. They were fugitives together, and Sally wasn't frightened anymore. She had proven that she was ready to stand beside him in the most dangerous situation of all.

The instinct to protect her became stronger once again, so Lecter carefully put down his book and tightened his arm about her shoulders. He paused for a moment, and then, in a rare show of feeling and solidarity, tentatively lowered his head and placed his lips gently against her forehead.

He could sense the change in her mood. This was no longer despair; it was resignation.

Lecter rested his head on hers and closed his eyes, and they remained there until the morning.


	3. Threats

A hoarse scream rent the cool night air.

" _MISCHA!_ "

Hannibal Lecter sat bolt upright in bed, feeling a cold sweat breaking out all over his body. His eyes were wide, staring, as he groped wildly in the dark for the light. He was desperately seeking out the small form of his sister, so close he had almost been able to reach her.

"Hannibal!" Sally cried, bursting through the door. She had heard his scream from her room, and with no thought of personal safety had hastened up the stairs to discover the source of the commotion. Her first thought was that they had been attacked, and so she had grabbed the first thing that came to hand on the way out of her room – a small lamp with a wide shade and, most importantly, a heavy, sturdy base.

The sight that met her was worrying – Lecter's pillows and blankets were scattered over the bed and room, the sheets were torn, Lecter's pyjama top was ripped open and several buttons were missing, and he was staring around manically, Harpy in hand.

He blinked at the sound of his Christian name; it seemed to bring him back to the present. The last of the dream melted.

Sally was still in the doorway, face full of concern, lamp raised. Lecter cocked his head slightly at it, and tried to focus on the situation at hand, banishing his night terrors back to the locked, screaming corridors of his memory palace.

"…I thought you might be under attack," Sally explained sheepishly. Lecter raised an eyebrow.

"And so you brought a lamp. How thoughtful."

"It was the first thing that came to hand, okay?"

"And a useful weapon it would have proved, I'm sure. I myself cannot think of a sight more terrifying than you wielding a bedside lamp. Did you plan to shed some light on the situation?"

Sally glared at him, then glanced around the room once more. There had been only one door at the top of the landing, and Sally now realised that this was because Lecter's bedroom was in fact the entire third floor. It was just one huge room (with a small door at one end, presumably to an ensuite bathroom) that seemed to meld several rooms into one: it started with the bedroom area, nearest the door, and then as you walked through became a lounge, complete with its own small library, and then a study. There was also a door, in the lounge section, that opened out onto a balcony that Sally had often seen from the ground. She now understood why she so rarely saw Lecter outside of tuition and meals; he had everything he needed up there.

The floor was covered in a pale Axminster that was at least an inch thick, and the walls were panelled in dark wood. All the furniture looked expensive and old, but well cared for. Sally wondered how long this had been Lecter's home. She lowered the lamp.

"Are you alright?" she said.

"Fine."

Sally's eyes again took in the scene.

"Clearly." When he didn't respond, Sally set the lamp down and went into the bathroom. There was a conveniently placed flannel next to the sink. She ran it under the tap and went back to Lecter, handing it to him so that he could clean away the blood on his face. He accepted it, and told her to go back to bed. But Sally was now feeling wide awake and knew that she would never get back to sleep, much though she may try. She felt a rumbling in her stomach and decided that she would make them both breakfast.

"Are you sure you're alright?" she said.

"Yes." Lecter looked down at the bloodied flannel. "I bit my tongue. It will be fine. My kitchen, however, may not be if you are let loose in it." Sally pouted.

"I find that unfair."

"Life is unfair."

"Touché."

He put on his dressing gown and followed her downstairs.

Sally ignored the disapproving look she received as she sat on the bench top and swung her feet, just stopping short of kicking the cabinets behind them. There was the occasional rattle or clank as Lecter pulled out ingredients and pans from various cupboards around the room. Eventually, Sally began to recognise a familiar pattern in his actions.

"Are you making pancakes?" Lecter didn't even raise his head, only continued whisking the batter until it was smooth and lumpless. When that was completed, he switched on the stove and greased his largest frying pan with a goodly knob of butter, which spluttered slightly as the heat intensified. The pan was a foot and a half in diameter, and when Lecter flipped the first pancake in one fluid motion, Sally gasped, because she had to admit that that was pretty darn impressive. Sally had never flipped a pancake in her life. She stared in wonderment at his proficiency, until he noticed her rapt expression and sighed. After a small pile of cooked pancakes had accumulated and enough mixture for two smaller ones remained, he turned to her.

"Would you like to try?" he asked, with a hint of resignation about the survival chances of his kitchen. Sally nodded eagerly and jumped down from her perch. The searing temperature meant that the mixture began to bubble almost as soon as it reached the pan, and Lecter had to grab Sally's wrist to stop her pouring too much in. Sally protested, but he reminded her that the bigger it was, the harder it would be to flip.

"Does it look ready to you?" he asked after a few minutes. Sally inspected it, looking panicked.

"Yes, I think so."

"Then tilt the pan towards you until the pancake has slid to the edge. Ready? Now flick that edge up, and the pancake should fly up. Do it quickly."

Sally took a deep breath and thrust the pan up. The pancake rose, flopped onto the opposite edge of the pan and, as if in slow motion, slithered off, first onto the edge of the stove, then to the floor. Sally froze, eyes squeezed shut, before swivelling to look at Lecter apologetically.

"I'll clean it up, shall I?" she tried.

"I think that would be a good idea, don't you? But first, let us finish the mixture while the pan is still hot." If Sally was surprised that Lecter had just placed the importance of pancakes above a clean kitchen, she didn't show it. This time when the time came to flip the pancake, Lecter, without saying a word, moved to stand behind Sally and put his arms around her, placing his hands on hers on the handle of the pan. Sally's brow furrowed for a moment, and her heart rate leapt at the sudden unexpected proximity.

Lecter noted the change in her breathing and smiled. The fact that she still didn't know whether to treat this as a threat, some strange sexual advance or something else entirely was rather endearing.

With Lecter manipulating her, Sally was able to successfully flip the second pancake and catch it in the pan. She grinned widely and, after Lecter had released her, held up her hand for a high-five. Lecter looked pointedly at the hand until she gave in and lowered it sadly.

They went about decking the table with various sauces and toppings until the child within Sally swooned at its beauty. A thought struck her, and she hurriedly went upstairs to retrieve her new Polaroid camera from her room. When Lecter raised an eyebrow she just looked at the table with a glazed expression.

"If I dined with you every day, forever, I would remember this meal," she whispered, and took a photo of the perfectly spread table, which she later stuck on her wall as the first thing up there that was truly hers.

* * *

Later that day, Lecter informed Sally that he was going out to get supplies for dinner, and would return in two hours. Sally bade him farewell from her seat on the couch. When he was halfway out the door, a thought struck her and she called out to him.

"Ooh! Could you get me some ice cream?"

He turned back to face her and raised an eyebrow. She placed her palms together under her chin pleadingly and tried to look as wretched and puppy-like as possible. Lecter blinked once, and then gave the closest thing to a smile as he ever did. He would show her the true meaning of ice cream.

Once his car was gone, Sally put away the book she was reading and went upstairs to the piano. She much preferred practicing when Lecter was gone from the house; she always felt like he was judging her, just a little bit.

That was enough to keep her occupied for an hour, until she felt thirsty, so headed back downstairs in search of liquid sustenance. A bottle of red wine had been left tantalisingly open on the countertop, but Sally turned away, knowing that it was for dinner and that Lecter would _know_ if she had any, even the tiniest sip. He was slightly scary like that.

The fridge was a much better option – Sally poured herself a glass of orange juice and settled back on the couch, disregarding her Kafka novel (which was giving her a headache) in favour of the television. It was time for the six o'clock news. The first three items were hardly of interest - the clean-up operation after the flooding up north, a bank robbery, and a murder which Sally recognised as Lecter's handiwork and which gave her a worrying surge of pride. The next bulletin, however, caught her off guard. Her own photo, laughing against the backdrop of the beach from her last birthday party, greeted her.

"Although the search for missing person, Sally Barron, is officially over," the newsreader was saying, "there are those who still believe that there is a chance for her discovery." Her blazer didn't _quite_ match her shirt. "The 18-year-old disappeared three and a half months ago after the murder of her parents, Thomas and Lucy Barron. Sally is presumed dead by the police, but her friends refuse to give up hope of her return." The camera panned back to show Sally's school friends, Pamela, Aleisha and Guy, doing their darnedest not to cry on national TV.

"Sally is our best friend," Aleisha said, as steadily as she could manage. "We'll never give up on her." The others nodded emphatically. There was the usual request to the public to phone the police immediately with any information they may have. Then it moved on.

Sally switched it off and sat frozen, staring at the place on the screen where Aleisha's face had been. Her mascara had run down her cheeks, and on national television. She would be mortified. Sally had been telling her for months that she needed waterproof, but clearly to no avail. Nothing changes, yet life goes on.

Sally's life had changed, but not gone on.

The best reception, Sally eventually discovered, was the balcony outside Lecter's room. She knew that she should stay away from the third floor, but a reckless feeling had come over her, along with the desperate desire to hear her friend's voice again. She checked her watch. She had at least fifteen minutes before Lecter would return, and she would hear the car when he did. It was safe.

* * *

Lecter had, in fact, arrived while Sally was still watching herself on TV, which was why she hadn't heard him arrive. He did not enter the house immediately, however. The radio was playing popular arias and Lecter sat with his eyes closed, head resting back on the headrest, and finished listening to Purcell's _Dido's Lament_. The story of Dido and Aeneas had always seemed far too melodramatic to him, until recently. It was not until now that Lecter understood how deeply one could be affected by love. _Dido's Lament_ caused a slight tightness in his chest.

The memory of sound was allowed to hang in the fragile air for a full ten seconds after the music ended before Lecter opened his eyes and finally exhaled. Then he got out of the car and went inside to put his groceries away and start on dinner.

It was slightly concerning, when he got inside, to hear muffled footsteps coming from the third floor of the house.

* * *

The phone rang three times. On the fourth ring, an unfamiliar voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Uh… hi, is Aleisha there please?"

"No sorry, this is Detective Sergeant Lawrence. I'm investigating the Barron case, we borrowed Aleisha's phone in case Sally attempted to contact her on it," said the voice. "Who is this?" Sally froze, not quite sure what to do at this point.

"I'm just a friend of Aleisha's from school, I just had a question about the homework. I'll try her home phone." Good save, Sally.

Unbeknownst to Sally, with her back to the unlit bedroom, Lecter entered the third floor and shut the door behind him without a sound.

"Okay. Did you know Sally?"

A pause.

"I do, but not well."

Lecter approached the balcony door.  
"Well, let us know if you hear anything from her."

"Thank you, Sergeant, I will." Sally ended the call.

The phone fell from her hand.

A few seconds later, with her eyes still shut, Sally was aware of several physical sensations that were not entirely pleasant. The iron railing of the balcony was digging into her lower back, pushing her belt into the soft flesh above her pelvis. Her face was tingling slightly, that odd sensation you get when you instinctively know that there is someone standing very close inside your personal bubble. But the most discomforting sensations were the hands that held her, one gripping her wrists more tightly than was comfortable, and the other holding a blade gently but uncomfortably pressed against her windpipe. She tried really hard not to swallow or breathe.

Hannibal Lecter was not amused.

Sally opened her eyes. Lecter's were mere inches from her own and she looked into them. They were a dull brown in the darkness.

Neither person moved for a long time, until finally Sally spoke softly.

"Hannibal—"

But she was cut short as Lecter suddenly tilted his Harpy with a sharp flick of the wrist. Blood oozed from the cut, which carefully missed all major arteries but still hurt like a bitch. There was a sharp intake of breath and Sally squeezed her eyes shut against the pain.

"Calling the police, are we?" Lecter said quietly. He was trying to hide how shaken he was by this. It was not just that the phone call could potentially threaten his free existence; it would be easy enough to disappear and start again somewhere new. It was more the fact that he realised how complacent he had become. Without realising it, he had come to trust Sally implicitly, and now she had betrayed him and he hadn't even seen it coming.

Sally took as deep a breath as she dared.

"Please, listen, I can explain…" Her racing heart caused the blood flow to increase around the blade.

"Explain what, hmm? How you called the police to turn me in and take away my freedom? After I spared you, took you into my home, and gave you a better life than you've ever known? You owe me your life, and you should do well to remember that." Lecter leaned closer to Sally's face, nostrils flaring, inhaling her blood and fear. "Because I can take all of that away, should the need arise." His voice was barely audible now. Sally felt the words rather than heard them. She felt his breath on her neck as he bent his dark sleek head. "You can go the same way as your poor old Mummy and Daddy, and no one will ever know…" Slowly, Lecter extended his tongue and placed it on the cut on Sally's throat, against the blood. It was thick and metallic and clung to his upper canine when it scraped across her skin, tugging slightly at the edge of the wound. With a great effort of mind, Sally did not flinch. He drew back and moved his lips close to her ear. "It would be so easy," he breathed. His head moved far enough back that he could look into her eyes.

The moment hung suspended in the air. Sally tried, as calmly as possible, to decide on the best course of action. She mustered her courage. Maybe if she had the element of surprise…

Without her eyes leaving his, Sally slowly leaned forward until her nose was almost touching Lecter's. To her relief, he let his knife hand move with her rather than let her slice her own neck open with the movement.

"Killing must feel good to God, too," Sally said, the quote coming back to her from somewhere in the depths of her memory. "And that's what _you_ want – to play God. To have dominion over all living things, because you do what others can't, or won't. Well let me tell you what, two can play at that game—" And with that, she let every violent urge she'd ever felt swell to the fore and she lunged forward, ignoring the pain as the blade moved further into her neck, sinking her teeth into Lecter's cheek and trying to tear off a souvenir before he pushed her away. Whipping his head around, he pinned one arm to Sally's side and with the other pushed her head away from her left shoulder, exposing the trapezius muscle towards which he dived. Sally screamed as his teeth pierced her skin and he growled as their blood merged and trickled down her chest. Trying to compartmentalise the pain, with her free hand, she sought out his right, which still held the Harpy, and while he was preoccupied she snatched it out of his hand and slashed in front of her, crosswise across his belly, and let her arm continue the motion, allowing the blade to fly out of her hand and over the balcony. Lecter recoiled with the sudden unexpected pain and Sally crumpled, clutching her wounds.

For a long time the pair stayed on the ground, panting. Sally whimpered. Lecter was silent. After a quick self-assessment, he decided that there would be no lasting damage, only an ugly scar on his cheek and another on his torso to add to the collection. He then turned his attentions to Sally, who by this point had lost a fair amount of blood. It was tempting to leave her on the balcony while he tended to his own wounds inside, but he grudgingly thought better of it.

Sally felt lighter in his arms than the first time he had held her. She was quite weak now, light-headed from blood loss. He laid her out on his bed before switching on the light and heading to a cabinet to fetch his medical supplies. The main priority was to stop her bleeding, and also his own as an afterthought. All was still when he turned back to her, and he worried that she'd lost consciousness. He sat on the bed near her head.

"Sally? Sally, can you hear me?" Lecter's voice was insistent but calm. He patted her cheek gently. "Sally?" He was rewarded with a groan and Sally's eyelids flickered open.

"Dr. Lecter..?"

"I need you to keep your eyes open, Sally. Open and fixed on me. Understood?" Sally nodded. Her eyes widened slightly as they found the bloody mess that was his right cheek.

"Dr. Lecter… I'm sorry…"

Lecter ignored her as he began to dress her wounds. First the knife wound. Slow the bleeding, sterilise, stitch, bandage; then the bite. This was not as easy to stitch, as the cut was not clean like the blade. He did the best he could. Whenever Sally's eyes closed for more than a few seconds, Lecter produced his bottle of smelling salts, which caused her to jolt awake rather suddenly. Lastly he gave her some powerful pain killers that he had made himself, useful in that they had no sedative effect.

When he was satisfied with her, he turned his attention to himself. The stomach wound was worse than he had first thought; fortunately, the blade had missed his organs, but it was deeper than he expected, which was more annoying than anything else. He sighed and took off his now ruined suit jacket, shirt and tie, before sterilising and stitching the foot-long gash. An image came to mind... a riverside and the smell of fish... he smiled to himself, revelling in the memory. Was that how Sally had felt when she cut him?

Good lighting was essential for administering to his cheek, so Lecter went into the bathroom and switched on the glaring bulbs around the mirror, which threw the bloody mess into sharp relief. The girl had done a lot of damage in the short time she had her teeth in him. Lecter was not exactly sure of the best way to deal with this, and gazed at his reflection for several moments. He wasn't thinking straight. He blinked. The options were to cut off the loose flaps of skin and bandage it, or just bandage it and see how it healed. He decided to stitch the loose skin together and see what happened.

When he went back to the bedroom, Sally had lost consciousness again. Lecter lifted her and sat her with her back against the headboard. Her eyes still didn't open. Several really exciting ways to wake her up came to mind, but he settled for just patting her cheek with gathering force until she started awake. She took one look at him threw her arms around his neck, pressing herself against his chest, finding comfort in his warmth and his heartbeat. She didn't care if he thought she was weak; right now, she was glad to be alive and heartbreakingly sorry for the pain she had caused him. She clung to him for a minute or two, until the pressure she was placing on his stomach increased and he winced pointedly. Sally glanced down, and drew back apologetically. Lecter sat looking through her, trying to make her uncomfortable with what she had just done, but it had no effect as she couldn't really feel much worse than she already did. All the same, she chose to speak.

"There was a news item about me. My friends were there, they were saying that they love me and that they'll never give up. I felt nostalgic, I tried to call Aleisha." She took a deep breath and recounted the rest of the conversation. "Then the next thing I knew there was a knife against my throat." There was a pause before Lecter spoke.

"I overreacted," he said.

"So did I."

"I'm sorry."

"So am I." Sally smiled, and winced as the motion strained a muscle in her neck slightly. She put her hand up to the bandage. Her other hand reached up to the bandage on Lecter's cheek; she let it stay there, holding his face gently. "I'm so sorry." He held her gaze until she broke away, her eyes travelling down his chest and the myriad of scars already there until she came to her own creation. "Will it heal?"

"In time," he said. There was a pause.

"Can I sleep here tonight?" Sally said. Lecter blinked.

"Why?"

"I don't want to be alone."

Lecter could sympathise. He nodded.

"I shall sleep on the couch," he said.

"No! No, it's alright, you..." Sally paused. She hadn't thought this through and wasn't sure how to say it without sounding like she wanted to 'sleep with him'. "You can sleep here too. I trust you and I... just need to know there's someone there. I can't explain it. I just can't be alone right now." A thought came to her. "Plus, you can make sure I don't tear my stitches or something drastic."

Lecter considered the matter. It might also be nice for him to have her presence as a comfort, especially in the wake of his nightmare the previous night. He smiled.

"As you wish."


	4. Changing

_Killing must feel good to god, too…_

Sally lay awake in the dark, eyes blankly staring at the ceiling above her. _It would be so easy…_ She blinked and glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. The moonlight drifted in through the open window, illuminating its face – almost four o'clock. A chilly breeze blew in. Sally shivered and turned onto her side, pulling the blankets tighter around her. The movement stretched the muscles in her shoulder and neck and she grimaced against the pain. It had been two weeks since her close encounter with Dr Lecter and the scars were still fresh.

Sleep had not come easily since that night. Nightmares plagued her almost every night when she did manage to drop off, but they were not nightmares that she was well-equipped to deal with. Sally expected to dream about being attacked by Lecter, tortured, eaten while she watched, but none of this had transpired. Instead, she dreamt of murder. Specifically, the murder of other people by her own hand. Sally was terrified of these dreams because they felt so real – and so good.

The absolute power over life and death, watching the life leave someone's eyes and knowing that she had made that happen – these were things that Sally craved. But it had grown to more than that. To remove the still beating heart and hold it in her hand; to devour those who had wronged her. This was not something that Sally ever thought she would become, but become it she had.

"I've spent too much time with Dr Lecter," she muttered to herself, and tried to put the thoughts out of her mind.

* * *

Lecter found Sally curled up on the couch watching TV when he went downstairs at seven o'clock. She was not immediately recognisable; however, he decided that there was probably no other explanation for a vaguely humanoid sphere of clothes and blankets to be in his living area.

"Are you cold?" he asked. The lump turned with some difficulty to regard him.

"No. It's a fashion statement." With that it turned back to watch the end of Monsters Inc. Lecter turned up the heat pump in addition to the fire that was already blazing and wondered for a moment if Sally might be ill. That would be inconvenient.

Twenty minutes later the movie ended, so Sally made herself breakfast and joined Lecter at the breakfast bar, noting smugly that he had subconsciously come to sit there habitually despite his initial hatred of it.

They ate in silence for a few minutes before Lecter spoke.

"You're still having trouble sleeping." It wasn't a question. Sally nodded. "I have some mild sedatives that would help—"

"No," Sally cut him off quickly. "I mean, thank you, but it's alright, I'd rather just let my body take over when it's ready." Lecter's eyes held her shrewdly for several moments.

"You don't want to sleep, do you." Sally looked back up at him and slowly shook her head. "You fear it." She nodded. "Tell me about your dreams." When Sally raised her eyebrows at him he simply replied, "I am a psychiatrist," and she was forced to concede the point.

"I dream about death."

"Whose?"

"Other people's. Sometimes I know them, occasionally not."

"How do they die?"

"I kill them." Her voice was barely more than a whisper. A strange expression came over her face for a moment, but then she downed the rest of her coffee and stood up. Without another word, she deposited her dishes in the dishwasher and went up to her room. A few moments later, Lecter heard the shower turn on.

Lecter steepled his fingers and peered into the distance over the top of them for a while. He was brought back to the present by a short scream from above, followed by a slightly muffled, "I'm okay!" Sighing, he stood up and made his way upstairs. Sally's bedroom door was ajar, but he knocked before entering. Sally was sat on her bed, holding her left foot.

"I slipped in the bathroom," she said sheepishly. Lecter turned and left, returning with a roll of bandage. In silence he felt her ankle, checking for breakages, and then began to bind it, ignoring her winces and half-hearted protests.

"It's just a sprain. Stay off it for twenty-four hours, and then I'll review your progress."

Sally grumbled a reply and lay back on her bed when he left. She stared up at the ceiling for a long time, finding patterns in the wood. Cracks and whorls made by time, swirling above her to form new shapes and patterns, faces of people she once knew and people she would never know, could never know… She screwed up her eyes and shook her head, trying to dislodge the images. There was no point thinking like that anymore; she was never going back.

A sudden movement made her jump. Her head whipped around and she shuddered slightly as she found Lecter standing in the doorway. It was uncanny; whenever Sally opened that door it creaked like the entrance to the tomb, but for Lecter the hinges moved as softly as silk.

"Jesus, Dr Lecter, every time…"

"I merely thought you might have fallen asleep, and didn't want to wake you," he replied, bowing his head in apology. "I've brought you some lunch."

"Lunch? But I've only been up here for ten minutes…"

"When did you last check the time?" Sally's eyebrows furrowed slightly and she turned to the clock on the mantelpiece. It was almost one o'clock. Her eyes widened. "I looked in on you earlier, but you seemed distracted."

"What do you mean, distracted?"

"Staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. An almost murderous glint in your eye – I do hope you weren't thinking about me."

Sally's eyes narrowed.

"How close were you if you could see into my eyes?" Lecter's mouth twitched up, but he did not respond. Setting the tray of food down on her bedside table, he left without a word. Sally, still suspicious, began picking at the food he had left for her.

How had she lost so much time? The thoughts whirled around her head until something about her food struck her as a little off. With no small amount of grimacing, she hopped off of her bed and hobbled out onto the landing.

"Dr Lecter?" she called down over the railing.

"Go back to bed." She could see the back of his head where he sat on the couch.

"Did you put something in my food?" She inwardly chuckled at the notion of asking that to a cannibal. Lecter turned to her and raised an eyebrow. Sally thought she saw a wink.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"No, but, seriously, there's something… different about it. And my ankle doesn't hurt anymore."  
"Really? Then why do you grimace every time you put weight on it?"

 _Seriously, how does he know this shit?_ Sally flicked her hair out of her face nonchalantly and pretended she hadn't heard.

"Go back to bed," he repeated, more kindly. "I've left something on your dresser, I thought you might find it interesting." He turned back to his book and Sally knew that that was all she would get out of him. She sighed quietly and began to limp back to her room before remembering that her ankle no longer hurt and rolling her eyes.

On her dresser, she found an old, worn-looking copy of Milton's _Paradise Lost_. Her face lit up when she saw it – bound in a dark brown leather, it was beautiful. Opening it, she saw faded in the top right-hand corner of the title page 'Property of Hannibal Lecter, 1944'. Sally blinked at it. This was the most personal thing she had seen of him in the nine months she had spent in his home. She picked it up gingerly, as if it might crumble through her fingers. This was special, a gesture of trust, trying to rebuild what had been broken the night they attacked each other.

Settling down on her bed, she began to read. It was slow going at first, as she reacquainted herself with the seventeenth-century English; but once she got into it, the imagery was evocative and she found herself entranced. Satan, in particular, conjured up conflicting emotions. He seemed almost to be the hero of the story, villainising God as a hypocritical tyrant. Satan just wanted freedom.

Sally jerked awake, her eyes suddenly wide, frantically trying to push away the dark. She forced her breathing to slow, bringing herself back to the present and blocking out the visions of death clouding her mind.

"It was just a dream," she whispered to herself. But she was not reassured. Shaking her head, she picked up the book from where it had fallen and looked out the window. The very beginnings of twilight were showing, a glow coming into the edges of the sky. Scents of rosemary and garlic wafted up to her; Lecter would be just starting on dinner. Sally sat, fidgeting impatiently, energy from a day of bed rest having built up inside. In an attempt to distract herself from her nightmares, she filled her head with a thousand different things, unable to focus on any one for more than a minute. She couldn't concentrate on her book; she longed to run, burn off the adrenaline and the edginess she felt from being trapped inside all day. The shadows outside had deepened slightly; she stood up, wincing slightly, and hobbled out to the landing.

"What's for dinner?"

"Lamb."

Normally, the description of a meal would be much longer and contain numerous unknown words. Lecter's mind was on something else – she hoped it wasn't her.

He bade her return to bed without looking up at her, focussed on the food. He, too, had been growing jittery, restless. He, too, had been thinking about murder since their encounter. It had been a while, a long while, since he had given in to that part of himself. And now, having had a taste of it (literally), he knew that it was time.

Lecter brought Sally's dinner up to her on a tray, before returning downstairs. He barely even tasted the food as he consumed, thinking instead forward to what he had planned for later that night. It troubled him slightly; it was reckless, and he had someone to care for now. If anything were to happen… but no. Nothing would happen. He was practiced, a master, and now that he had someone to come home to he wouldn't allow anything to go wrong.

After dinner, he went upstairs to collect her tray. At the door, he paused.

"I'm going out."

Sally glanced at the clock.

"At this hour?"

"…yes."

Sally's eyes narrowed.

"Is this the sort of going out like… like when we met?" He nodded. "Okay. Be careful." She picked up her book again and continued reading. Lecter stood in the doorway for a moment, surprised how coolly she was taking this. Then he left, heading out into the night.

With Lecter gone, Sally was free to roam around the house. Even though he would be able to tell and would be annoyed, it was a risk she was willing to take. She needed to get out of her room. On the countertop downstairs she found the glass of wine he had left for her, and she smirked. Of course he knew that she wouldn't keep to her bed.

Outside, the dusk was heavy now and she could see the first stars beginning to twinkle softly. The evening air was cool as she limped out the back door, wine in hand. There was a chair swing suspended between two trees and she headed towards it. Although the house and grounds were always quiet, with no road noise, she found it the most peaceful in that chair. She climbed in and stretched her legs out on it – that was as good as being in bed. A warm breeze stirred the hair around her eyes and made the chair rock slightly. Sally closed her eyes and smiled, absorbing the sounds of birds and the rustle of the grass, this perfect night made more perfect by wine.

A sound disturbed the stillness.

It was barely even a sound, she felt it rather than heard it. She froze instantly, eyes still closed. She had ingratiated herself into the tiny movements of the night so that she knew all its secrets, but now something had changed. Something was wrong.

Someone was here.

* * *

Lecter whistled to himself as he drove, filled with a quiet enjoyment at the prospect of his evening. Tempted to return to the place he had met Sally and her parents, he in turn decided against it. It had been a long time since the incident, but lightening never strikes the same place twice, and there was a risk, there was always a risk.

This outing had been his most spontaneous, however, and as such he was mildly unprepared, although fortunately he always kept a spare tarpaulin in the trunk. He searched his memory palace for a spot that could be useful, and eventually discovered one, only an hour's drive away. It would do. He headed out, and waited.

He did not have to wait long.

A car approached, and he grinned, the beam from the headlights glinting off a canine. This would be fun.

* * *

 _What would Hannibal do?_

 _Nothing_.

Hannibal would not act rashly. Would not spring into action, or make mistakes. He would sit, quietly, and consider his next move.

Sally sat, for several minutes, silent, listening. She had not locked the house, nor had Lecter. She heard the intruder move around to the back door, and slowly slowly opened it, slipping inside. Sally cursed herself for turning off the inside lights, cursed herself for liking the dark. Although the intruder was only twenty yards away, she couldn't make out any features, except for the height, which was similar to her own.

The back door opened into the laundry room, which came off the kitchen. The intruder hadn't closed the door. Slipping off her shoes, Sally moved through into the house, her socks making no noise on the tiled floor. Like a cat stalking her prey, she slowly pulled one of the chopping knives out of its block. Lecter always kept them sharp.

The intruder was in the dining room now.

Moving faster, Sally approached. At the entrance of the dining room, she paused. The intruder was just a few feet in front of her now. Although she knew she should just attack, she was curious; who was this person, how had they managed to find them? And the feelings that she was trying to repress – nausea, nervousness; excitement. Too scared to attack, but so eager as well. Holding the knife out at the ready, she turned on the lights.

"Aleisha?"

The intruder span around.

"Sally!"

Sally lowered the knife, but maintained her grip.

"You're alive!" her school friend gasped as she ran and hugged her. A part of Sally wanted to hug her back; the other part remained wary. Aleisha pulled back, still beaming, and then paused. "Are we alone?" Sally nodded slowly.

"He's out. Look, uh… let me get you a drink. He won't be back for a while. Although I must ask you to give me your phone." Aleisha was confused, but, trusting her friend, got her phone out of her pocket and handed it over. "Thanks." Sally placed it on the counter, and smashed it with the handle of the knife. It shattered.

"Hey!" Aleisha cried indignantly. "What the hell?"

"Sorry," Sally said, thinking quickly. "He has security, it would detect the signal and notify him. He would know someone was here."

"Oh," Aleisha said, frowning. "Thanks, then. You could have just turned it off, though." Sally didn't respond. She opened the fridge.

"Red or white?"

"White, I guess."

Sally poured them a glass each and led Aleisha into the lounge, gesturing for her to sit down in an armchair, while she curled herself up on the couch. She had left the large knife in the kitchen, but palmed a smaller one up her sleeve. Just in case.

Aleisha looked incredibly uncomfortable.

"Sally, this is nice and everything, but I really think we should leave. I need to get you out of here!"

"We've got plenty of time," Sally reassured, although her voice sounded strange and empty. "He'll be hours yet. Let's just enjoy one last glass of wine." Aleisha did not look reassured. Sally attempted to brighten up her expression, and smiled. "So! Tell me, how is everyone? How's school going? Exams must be coming up." She took a sip of wine, not breaking eye contact.

"Y-yes. We're on study break at the moment. Everyone's fine, although we still miss you. The teachers and the police tell us we need to move on with our lives, but we knew not to give up hope. I knew. I've really missed you, Sally. It's been hell without you."

"I've missed you too," Sally said quietly. She noted the tears welling in her friend's eye and was hit by a deep pang of sadness. With difficulty, she pushed it aside. "How did you find us?"

"It was when the police gave me back my phone. The search for your body actually ended a week after they publically announced that it did – they thought it might prompt the killer to show remorse or something, seeing us on TV. But after a week, they decided that that was enough, they weren't going to be contacted, and they gave me my phone back. The sergeant told me a friend had called about homework. I looked at the call history; but the number was blocked. Things have changed since you left; I've learned a lot. I learned self-defence, I got my driver's licence… I learned how to trace calls. It took me while to trace this one. But I did it. I followed it here. I can't believe it worked, that I have you back again."

Sally listened to the story in silence. That damned phone had brought them nothing but trouble.

"I'm impressed," she said, after a pause. "I'm touched you would go through all of that for me."

"I would have done anything to find you again."

"I see that now."

"I guess we should probably be going then," Aleisha hinted with awkward cheerfulness.

"But you haven't even touched your wine."

"I'm driving. Still only on my Restricted licence, can't make any mistakes."

"Fair enough." Sally leaned forward and set her now empty wine glass down on a coaster on the coffee table. "But I'm not going with you."

"What?" Aleisha looked distraught. "I… I don't understand."

"I'm different now, Aleisha. Or, I'm more myself than ever. I couldn't go back to your life. I thought I wanted to, but seeing you has made me realise… It's not who I am anymore." Aleisha shook her head, slowly, looking incredulous.

"You're joking, aren't you? You have to be. This is ridiculous. What, has he—has he brainwashed you?"

"No. That would have been rude."

"Have you got Stockholm's Syndrome or something?"

"That's absurd," Sally scoffed. "I'm not in love with Dr Lecter." Aleisha's eyes widened and she gasped at the mention of his name. "Oh, didn't you know whose house you'd broken into? You may have thought twice otherwise. Although I guess you did say you'd do _anything_ …" Sally blinked, cutting herself off. She could feel where that sentence was going – it was turning into one of Lecter's insults. She really had spent too much time around the man.

"O-of course I would. I still would have come here. I'm just… I'm so sorry. It must have been awful for you, being his prisoner. What has he done to you? Your neck?" Sally felt suddenly self-conscious of her scars and the bandage on her ankle. Aleisha wouldn't be able to comprehend that she had come to wear them like a badge of honour. "Come on, you're free now. Let's get out of here!"

"No, I don't think you're quite equal to the intellectual pressures of this conversation." Here we go, the insults were starting to come out. "It's you who is the real prisoner, held captive by society and its stupid rules. I wasn't free until I met Dr Lecter – I never understood my captivity until I was finally outside it. He's taught me so much, _so much_ , that you will never, _can_ never know. I have a full life here. I'm not going with you."

Aleisha sat, dumbfounded, staring at the girl she thought she knew. It was several moments before she spoke again, and when she did her voice was a whisper.

"Who _are_ you?"

"I'm the same person I've always been, Aleisha," Sally sighed, standing up. "But now there are no rules."

* * *

There was only one man in the car, and he got out, concerned, to approach. Lecter's car was parked on the side of the road, bonnet up, hazard lights on.

"Are you alright there, mate?" the man called. Lecter turned around.

"Thank god you're here," he said, voice dripping with heartfelt gratitude, "I had no idea what I would've done if someone didn't show up soon…"

* * *

Aleisha leapt to her feet, backing away as her friend advanced.

"Sally, I—I don't understand. What are you doing?"

"Don't worry, Aleisha. There's nothing to be afraid of."

"Well, I wasn't afraid until you told me not to be, and now I'm quite afraid," she rambled, stumbling slightly and twisting around to see where she was going. The instant her back was turned, Sally lunged, grabbing hold of one of her arms and twisting it up behind her back until she cried out in pain, pinning her again the fireplace.

"What are you doing?"

"Aleisha," Sally said calmly. "I need you to leave this place. You will tell no one that you came here, or what you saw, or that I am alive. Can you do that? You have to promise me." She could feel her friend trembling and smelt the fear reeking off her. _Is this what Dr Lecter first saw in me?_

"I c-can't do that," Aleisha replied, terrified and yet determined. "I've done this for you, I've come here to bring you back. And that's what I'm going to do—" Apparently she had found some inner strength, because at that moment she twisted free of Sally's grip and tried to run.  
Sally closed her eyes and flicked off the lights, hearing Aleisha stumble as she did so. Sally advanced slowly, her eyes already adjusting, avoiding obstacles instinctively. Her friend's pace was more cautious now, and she kept bumping into things; Sally could hear her trying to keep her breathing steady.

"Ready when you are, Aleisha. Let's just sit down and talk about this." She let the knife she had palmed slide forward so that the handle rested comfortably in her fingers.

"You're insane."

"Perhaps." And this time the voice was right behind Aleisha and she turned, lashing out with a fist but instead of making contact with Sally it connected with the blade, slicing deeply into her hand, causing her to cry out. Before she could move, Sally summoned her anger and frustration and punched hard, knocking Aleisha to the ground. A ray of moonlight fell conveniently across her face, allowing Sally to see into her eyes as she knelt over her. "I'm truly sorry, Aleisha," she said sadly, and she meant it, "but you really shouldn't have tried to run."

* * *

Satisfied, Lecter rolled up the man's body in the tarpaulin and, not without some protests from his knees, hoisted the large bundle into the trunk of his car. Using a bottle of water and washcloth, he cleaned the blood from his hands and from where it had splattered onto his face. There were some drops on his collar, too, and he cursed himself for not bringing a spare shirt. But no matter; he would just have to hope that he didn't somehow get caught on camera on his return drive through the city. It was a little out of his way, but was an excellent way to cover tracks – drive aimlessly around the bustling city for half an hour before heading home, and no one, no matter how good, would be able to track you.

His car door closed with a snap, and, after one last check in the mirror to make sure he hadn't missed any blood, Lecter drove off once again into the night, wondering vaguely how Sally was getting on.

* * *

Aleisha's eyes were wide in horror, and she struggled against her friend's surprisingly strong grip. Blood from her wrist was oozing all over Lecter's Axminster and Sally flinched in anticipation of his face when he saw it.

But back to the task at hand. Sally felt a tremendous sense of power as she considered the different ways to kill the girl. It was regrettable, yes, but now inevitable. Strangulation appealed to her greatly – the incredible intimacy of it was intoxicating. But the knife was still in her hand; she looked at it, eyes glazed, appearing to Aleisha almost as though she were in a trance.

"Sally, please—" was all Aleisha managed to croak out before Sally's face contorted and she slashed sideways in front of her, cutting through her friend's throat, severing the vocal chords and just grazing the trachea. She let Aleisha's hands fly to her throat, desperately trying to stem the blood flow, but it was too late now. It was also too late for Lecter's carpet, Sally thought absentmindedly. _Damn_.

Without thinking, and ignoring the frantic gasps of her dying friend, Sally slowly lowered her knife to hover over Aleisha's chest. The blade was perhaps too small, but oh well – worth a try. She pressed the tip of the blade down between Aleisha's third and fourth left ribs, dragging it across to make a decent-sized gash. Aleisha was now writhing, almost seizing, but Sally appeared not to notice. Placing both hands inside the opening, she spread the ribs and reached in to take hold of the heart. A satisfied, but above all peaceful, smile spread across her face and her eyes closed as she felt the heart beat faster and faster until suddenly it just stopped.

For several minutes, Sally remained there, her hand inside Aleisha's chest, her heart still in her hand. She felt… incredible. Sublime. Utterly at peace.

However, everything must end. With a sigh, she retracted her hand and wiped it on her pants. She was covered in blood anyway, a little more wouldn't make a difference.

Sally wasn't really sure where to go from here; this was Dr Lecter's area. She stood up, but almost immediately fell over again, having momentarily forgotten her sprained ankle in the adrenaline rush. On the second attempt to be vertical, she was successful. Attempts to move her friend's now lifeless body were not, as she could only really put weight on one leg. Feeling a little sheepish that she couldn't clean up her own mess, Sally hopped back over to the coffee table and retrieved her empty wine glass, making it back to the fridge to refill it.

* * *

When Lecter returned home an hour later, he found Sally sitting at the breakfast bar, staring into her wine as though it could reveal the secrets of the universe. He noted the empty bottle beside her.

"Good evening."

Sally just nodded in reply, and gestured with her head to the living area. A little concerned, Lecter followed her gesture and moved through to the lounge. His eyebrows rose considerably.

"You _have_ been busy."

"I'm sorry about the carpet."

"It's no matter. I will get a new one."

Sally finally lifted her head and turned to see that he had approached to sit beside her and was staring intently at her.

"Would you like to tell me what happened?"

So Sally told him, in a quiet, toneless voice, about her evening. He didn't interject, didn't comment, his face remained neutral until she had finished speaking. A little tentatively, he reached out and took her fidgeting hands in his.

"Sally." The sound of his voice cut through the mists of her thoughts like fire, and she looked up to meet his gaze. "You have done nothing wrong. You were threatened, our life here was threatened, and you defended yourself. That's all."

Sally searched his eyes and found nothing there but honesty and pride. She allowed herself a smile.

"So, how about we get this cleaned up?" Lecter asked, and she nodded, hopping up onto her one good leg.

Lecter did most of the carrying and cleaning, but gave Sally small jobs to do so that she could feel as though she were contributing. She appreciated it; she needed to take responsibility if she were ever going to come to terms with this, and for that she had to be involved in every part of the process.

To Sally's amazement (although she knew she shouldn't be surprised), Lecter had managed to get most of the blood out of the carpet. For the rest, he said that he would have to pick up a special machine from town.

When the house was looking somewhat back to normal, and Aleisha was safely packed away in the freezer room that Sally wasn't allowed in, Lecter helped Sally back to the lounge. She practically collapsed onto a sofa as Lecter made another trip to the kitchen to get them both a very large glass of wine. After Sally had had a few generous sips, he spoke.

"How did you feel when you saw your friend?" Sally considered the question for a few moments before replying.

"I thought I'd feel happy, or scared, or sad, but I didn't. I just felt… empty."

"And how did you feel when you killed her?"

Something flashed across Sally's face, just for a second.

"Powerful."

Lecter didn't respond, but inclined his head. _Good_.

There was one thing about this incident that had been bubbling away in the back of her mind that finally managed to burst to the surface.

"That phone has brought us nothing but trouble! Why do you even have it? Who were you gonna call, Ghostbusters?"

Lecter considered this for a moment, ignoring her last comment.

"It came with the house. It was an oversight not to remove it."

Sally raised her eyebrows.

"You mean you forgot about it? You must be getting old." Although she said it in jest, she wasn't quite sure how he would respond. He raised an eyebrow at her, but said nothing.

* * *

That night, as she lay half-asleep, she felt again the weight of Aleisha's heart in her hand; saw again the life leaving her friend's eyes; felt the power behind the knife as she stabbed. She smirked to herself; and then she closed her eyes, and embraced the dark.

 _Killing must feel good to god, too…  
_ … _and are we not created in his image?_


	5. D Below Middle C

The clock… stopped.

They did that, Lecter explained. When they get old, the mechanisms wear down, and they just – stop.

"Like men."

"Exactly."

Lecter returned later that night with a new clock that Sally helped him carry inside. He cooked diner and they ate, chatting about _Paradise Lost_ as Sally had just finished it. Only when she began to yawn did they realise how much time had passed. It was just after eleven. Sally took herself off to bed and was asleep in moments, the wine at dinner having made her drowsy. Downstairs, Lecter unpacked the clock.

He had taken some pains in selecting it. Eight feet tall and made of a dark rosewood, it cut a striking figure at one end of the long ground floor living area. The pendulum was heavy, much heavier than was normal – a solid twelve pounds. The man in the antique store said that it should not be possible for the clock to function, for the pendulum be able to slice the air into exact seconds. Somehow, it did.

Lecter hung the pendulum and raised the weights. The clock ticked, loudly. Satisfied, he retired.

* * *

It was the tolling of the clock that woke her. Midnight. With each stroke, Sally felt her mind clear, truly, as though it had been clouded by fog.

Sally sat up. A ray of moonlight filtered through the gap in the curtains. She got out of bed and went to the window, still experiencing the blissful moment just after waking when one feels entirely at peace. The valley was lit by the moon and stars, the only road out visible as a thin ribbon winding up through the forest. The sky over the valley was clear, but Sally saw clouds closing in from beyond the hills. She felt as if she was seeing it all for the first time.

Then the illusion of peace was shattered as everything returned to her. Her abduction, Lecter's teeth against her skin; blood, so much blood… and Aleisha. Sally felt her blood run cold. _Aleisha_.

"Oh god."

She had to get out, get away from this place, away from that man. She dressed quickly and quietly, knowing that Lecter might hear, or even smell, her at any moment and stop her. Knotting the sheets together and tying them to the bedpost, Sally opened the window and lowered her rope down. She cursed silently. There was still a two metre drop at the end.

The few items of jewellery on the vanity were the only things she owned; she put them on. There was a moment of indecision over the bracelet that Lecter had given her. Without quite knowing why, she slipped it over her wrist.

The descent was short. Sally let her body go limp as she fell the final two metres, but bit her tongue on landing in an effort not to cry out. She spat out the blood and set off.

Sally decided to take the road. There was no point in trying to mask her escape and it was much faster than braving the forest.

Dawn was approaching when a car finally pulled over. Sally had grown frantic. Her heart was pounding, her eyes darting frantically around as she gasped for breath. By her estimate, she had made it two miles from the entrance to the valley. By this time, the hysteria had set in.

The driver slowed down, stopped next to her. Leaned over to wind down the passenger window.

"Excuse me, miss, are you alright?"

Without a second thought, Sally opened the door and climbed in, shaking. Her future couldn't possibly be worse than her past.

"I think I'm in shock."

"Why, what happened?"

"I don't—I don't know." Her voice cracked and she looked at the man for the first time as she began to sob. " _I can't remember_."

* * *

Dr Lecter knew that something was wrong the moment he woke up. It was only 6am, but in the height of summer the sunlight was already streaming through the windows. It should have been a perfectly ordinary morning. But the house felt wrong. It _smelled_ wrong.

He slipped out of bed and padded silently downstairs to Sally's room. He knew before he opened the door. He could smell her blood on the grass outside.

* * *

"I'm David, by the way."

He glanced over at the girl as he spoke, but she was staring at her hands like she could hardly see them.

"Sally," she whispered.

"Nice to meet you."

David turned up the volume on his tape player again. The voice of Tom Petty seemed to help Sally relax a little. It was something familiar.

They drove in silence for a while, and through a series of sideways glances Sally took the opportunity to study her saviour a little more.

David looked to be in his early thirties. She glanced at his hands. No ring. He had a strong profile, cheek and jaw bones so sharp she thought she might cut herself if she touched him, and cursed herself for the cliché. Short, dark, well-groomed hair and beard. A stern brow above deep brown eyes. He looked almost… frightening. But then he looked back at her and smiled, and his gaze filled her with warmth.

 _Safe_.

"So, uh, where can I take you?" he asked conversationally. Sally blinked.

"I don't know. I have nowhere to go."

"Well, I know that you shouldn't trust strange men that pick you up on the side of the road, but if you like then you're welcome to use my spare room until you work something out."

Sally considered this. He was right – she probably shouldn't trust a man she knew nothing about. But whatever happened, it couldn't be worse than the hell she'd left behind. Even if she couldn't remember it, the thought filled her with a sense of dread.

They drove for another three hours. Sally didn't even think to ask what he'd been doing so far away from home at the crack of dawn, or why he was dressed in sneakers and sweat pants like he'd been for a run.

David lived in the city. She didn't know which city; she barely knew which country she was in. The tape player and the steady hum of the car had lulled her to sleep. It wasn't until they had pulled into his driveway and David had switched off the engine that she regained consciousness.

The house was quaint, with a small and well-kept front lawn and painted awnings that matched the front door. Inside, it was simple, obviously a resting place and not much else. David went into the spare room first, saying that he had been using it for storage and it was in a state.

Sally sat, huddled in a corner of the sofa, and looked around. The room was sparsely decorated. Light filtered through the net curtains. There was one framed photo, on the mantle above the fireplace. It was a young woman, but the photo looked dated – probably mother rather than wife. A garish, hand-knitted blanket was draped over the back of the sofa. It made her smile.

Finally, David re-emerged.

"You look like you could use some rest," he said softly. "But first, a hot shower. Doctor's orders." Sally took the towel he was offering and looked down at herself. Her clothes were spattered with mud and dust, and her hands had dried blood from where she'd grazed them when she tripped. She nodded, and went down the corridor where he was pointing. At the bathroom door, she paused.

"So are you a doctor?"

"Counsellor," David replied with a smile. "Close enough."

* * *

Hannibal Lecter was a complicated man. But he was, still, just a man. And like all men, Lecter craved love and acceptance. He tried to tell himself that he didn't; it was the only lie he had ever told himself. He thought he had found it only once before, and had been betrayed. That was when Lecter had decided – it was one disappointment too many. He had spent many years alone, and was resolved to spend the rest of his life that way.

Weeks turned into months; months turned into years. Lecter retreated into himself, further than ever before. He had never had to hide from himself before. Life had begun to lose its sweetness, its piquancy. There was no longer pleasure in wine, or food, or music. Even his memory palace seemed dark and closed to him.

Until… _her_. He had taken her in on a whim, something to amuse him for a time. He had never intended to keep her. But the prospect of a young mind, eager and willing, that he could mould, was too appealing. Who looked up to him, as protector and role model. Someone who accepted him. And so, once again, Hannibal Lecter decided that, for him, this was it. She was his reason to live. She was his life now. Unconsciously, because some things remain hidden, even from him, he had pinned all remaining hopes onto Sally. His last chance at happiness.

Now that had left him. All that Lecter could feel was anger. Anger at himself, for being so foolish. He should have known as soon as she had phoned the police; should have finished her then. He thought that the incident with Aleisha had been the tipping point, where Sally had committed herself entirely to him. Perhaps it had been the tipping point.

She now posed an even more dangerous threat to him. Let loose back into the world, who knew what she might do? Once she made it back to the city, to her friends, the police would find out and it would be all over the news. 'MISSING GIRL FOUND, WOUNDS STILL FRESH'. And then the hunt would be on. But it would not last, because she would tell them exactly where to find him.

Lecter had two choices. He could run – or he could find her first.

* * *

David cleaned and disinfected Sally's cuts and scrapes. Although callused, his fingers were soft and moved gently across her skin. Something deep in her belly stirred at the contact. He watched as she wolfed down the toast he had made for breakfast, before insisting that she go to bed and rest. Sally didn't try to resist, and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. She hadn't realised just how exhausted she was.

When he was sure she was asleep, David crept into her room, wincing as a floorboard creaked beneath him. He stood watching her for almost an hour, intrigued by the trust she had so willingly placed in him and the way her eyelids fluttered as she dreamed.

* * *

Lecter put on his record of Glenn Gould playing Bach's Goldberg Variations and sat down. It had always helped him to think, to clear away the panic that had begun to bubble in a dark corner of his subconscious. By the time the Aria returned, he hadn't made much progress, so he made a cup of coffee and went upstairs to the piano where he played through the Variations from memory, his right hand occasionally wandering off and improvising over the bass line. Then he stood up.

The drops of Sally's blood had dried in the sun on the grass outside. Lecter followed the depressions her sneakers had left there and didn't bat an eyelid when they led to the road. He noted the skid marks where she slipped and fell in the gravel, another drop of blood marking the spot. A grazed elbow, perhaps.

At the lip of the valley, Lecter paused and sniffed the air. The sun was nearing its zenith by now, and he had built up a sweat, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Crushed patches of grass on the side of the road indicated her direction. When a passing car slowed to ask if he was alright, Lecter responded that he was looking for his runaway dog.

He found the spot where a car had pulled over, and the footsteps stopped. With a sigh, he turned around and walked back home.

Lecter had always been able to sense another human's presence. The scent of their sweat, their cologne, their shampoo, coupled with the sound of their breath and the pattern of their heartbeat. He had always known, without looking, exactly where Sally was, and assumed that it had been because of these physical sensations. But in that moment, he knew that this extended beyond that. Their link passed beyond the physical world. Maybe she truly was Mischa, returned to him. Maybe, Sally had died the night he abducted her, and Mischa had taken her place. Because in that moment, he knew. She was in danger. He had to find her, now.

Clarice's obsession with saving the lambs had always been a mystery to him. Finally, he understood.

* * *

Sally slept most of the day while David was out at work. Unpleasant dreams made her twitch, toss and turn, jerk awake with a breathless panic; but the images slipped away as soon as she tried to focus on them.

The fridge was surprisingly well-stocked for a man living on his own, and she made a hearty sandwich with chicken and salad for lunch. There wasn't much else to do. David didn't own a television, and even though his bookcase was full to bursting, she felt uncomfortable taking one without his permission. Books were personal. It would be an invasion of privacy.

It was early evening when David returned home, clutching one bag containing numerous boxes of Chinese takeout, and another bearing the legend 'H&M'. A voice in the back of Sally's mind whispered ' _Cheap_ ', but she barely heard it. David handed her the bag, apologising in case he incorrectly guessed her size, and said that she should change before dinner. Sally looked down at the t-shirt and sweat pants that he had loaned her and agreed. Although he was wiry, so was she, and she had to keep tugging the pants up over her hips.

The bag contained just a few items – jeans, a sweatshirt, two t-shirts, and some underwear. None of it sat right, but she appreciated the thought and it was better than nothing. Sally noted with amusement that he had neglected to purchase a bra.

When she returned to the living area, David had covered the small dining table with the boxes of Chinese, and Sally was eager to get started. She accepted a plate and began heaping fried noodles and chicken onto it. David sat opposite her and allowed her to eat in silence for a few minutes before he spoke.

"How was your day?"

"Good, thank you," Sally managed between mouthfuls, then realised that she would get a stomach ache if she didn't slow down. She set down her chopsticks and had a mouthful of water. "I slept for most of it. Feel a bit better now." Noticed David's gaze piercing her and blinked uncomfortably. He sensed her beginning to shut herself off and cleared his throat, looking down to the chopsticks he was awkwardly wielding.

"I'm glad to hear it."

Sally feigned a particularly grisly piece of chicken to give herself a moment to recollect. She swallowed, hard.

"How was… work?" She realised that she didn't actually know where he'd been all day. _Never assume, you just make an ass out of you and me_. Build a rapport, establish trust. You trust him, you have to, he is your saviour. But he doesn't trust you yet; he doesn't know you. _Let him know you_. These thoughts were unconscious, coming from a part of Sally's mind that was currently closed to her.

"Work was work," he replied, glancing up at her. "It's fulfilling, but if I'm honest, a little depressing."

"Yes, counselling people about their grief would do that." David smiled, an unsanctioned reflex. It made Sally smile too.

* * *

They had grown close in the short time she had been with him. He had been kind to her, had looked after her. Of course she had fallen for him. It was only natural.

He had turned up at dinner with, for him, an expensive bottle of wine. Throughout the evening, while he appeared to be drinking, she didn't realise that he never refilled his glass while she steadily drank her way through the bottle. It was one week since he had found her. It was cause for celebration.

She was happy. Warm, fuzzy, content. She felt like she was finally… where she was meant to be. With the person she was meant to be with.

He cooked her dinner. He lit some candles. There was music.

They talked, and Sally couldn't remember ever feeling this way before.

He put on a different tape, this one of ol' jazz numbers. Moonlight Serenade came on. The voice in the back of her mind whispered, _Tacky_.

And then he took Sally completely by surprise when he bowed and extended a hand to her, asking her to dance. She acquiesced, and they swayed together, rocking back and forth like a lullaby. Sally's eyes felt heavy, and she leaned her head against David's shoulder, finally closing the gap between them. His hand, which had been resting chastely in the middle of her back, moved gently down and around, until it wrapped around her waist, holding her against him. Sally felt her heart begin to race, pounding against her ribcage, against David. She wondered if he could feel it. If he could smell the increase in the pheromones seeping from her. Her hand on his shoulder crept to his neck, subconsciously feeling for his pulse. The sensation of his blood pumping hard, almost like it was trying to break through the thin skin under her nails, was enough to drive her over the edge. Her pupils dilated. She let out a soft sigh that vibrated through David's sternum. That was all it took for him to lean down and kiss her. For Sally, it was an explosion of sensation, like she was seeing the world for the first time. Stars exploded in her eyes, and—but wait. She was feeling short of breath. She tried to open her eyes and pull away, but found that her vision going black and she couldn't move. More importantly, she couldn't breathe. Her hands tore at David's fingers, clenched tightly around her throat, slowly crushing her windpipe. She felt lightheaded, bright stars popping in her vision and exploding into images, into—

Blood.

And then, on the brink of unconsciousness, Sally _remembered_.

Her parents' murder. Her abduction. Her time spent with Dr Lecter, where he had cared for her. The death of Aleisha. How she had _liked_ it.

There was only one way to feel safe. To be in control.

But she had lost control; and now, she had lost consciousness.

* * *

Sally's unconscious mind teemed with images, with sensations. The hot, velvety feeling of blood running down her arms, down her throat. She let herself become lost in it, warm and safe.

When she came to, she had been stripped naked and tied to the bed in David's room by her wrists and ankles, lying on a plastic sheet. There was water running, in the bathroom. David was nowhere to be seen.

This was the most vulnerable Sally had ever felt. She had no control over anything, her body bared as a canvas, ready to be turned into art. She could not control what David was about to do to her; all she could control was how she reacted, and she was damned if she'd let him see her pain.

David entered the room, and Sally's eyes took in his muscled body, looking almost as if it had been oiled. _This is it_ , Sally thought. She closed her eyes, and retreated into her mind. Her happiest memories were all at the front, from her time with Dr Lecter. Everything else was pushed back, into the dark, like a dream. She thought about the time he made her pancakes, and smiled.

The light glinted off the scalpel in David's hand. He hoped the camera caught that. His eyes locked onto Sally's for a moment, before she closed them, her face neutral. David advanced, slowly, then climbed onto the bed to straddle her. The scalpel rested against her breastbone. She smiled. David raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. His eyes roamed over her, taking in her scars and how her ribs were starting to show. There was no lust in his eyes; despite what Sally thought, this wasn't about sex. This was about fulfilling some even deeper, insatiable demon inside of him.

Starting at her left shoulder, David made the first incision down towards the body of the sternum, then repeated this from the right shoulder. He cut down from where the two incisions met, down to her navel. He wanted to see what made her tick. Sally flinched, but it was an involuntary physical response. She was not aware of the pain, or the blood that was steadily draining from her. She thought about killing Aleisha.

When he had completed the Y-incision, David put down the scalpel and reached into Sally's chest cavity, traced his fingers along her ribs. They were sticky with blood and the remains of soft tissue. Blood flowed out over his fingers.

He retracted his hands. Now to remove the front of the rib cage, to expose the internal organs. The bone saw was not where he thought he had placed it, on the dresser behind him. David's brow furrowed, and he cleared his throat. When he turned back, the first thing he saw was Sally's eyes. They were open now, watching him. She looked very… alert. Then there was a sudden pain, and then blackness.

* * *

Before David opened his eyes, he tried to take stock of his surroundings. There was something soft but tight around his wrists and ankles, and he was vertical, his feet hanging limply. His wrists were already aching. He could hear voices close by, but couldn't make out what they were saying. Sally's voice, croaky and weak. And a man's voice.

"…no, it's okay, I'm okay, I can do it," Sally insisted.

"Alright," Lecter replied, after a lengthy pause. "But make it quick." He looked her over one more time. Patching her up properly would require more tools than he had brought, and a lot more time. He had stitched her up loosely, and heated his scalpel in the fire to cauterize what would in time become a two-foot-long scar. Sally had not screamed, barely even whimpered as the red-hot metal touched her skin. Drops of blood still seeped out between the stitches, stark red against the alabaster-white of her skin.

"Take what makes you vulnerable and let it make you strong," Lecter murmured, his lips against her ear. Sally nodded, and accepted the blade he was offering her. She felt the weight of the Harpy in her hand.

When David did open his eyes, he saw Sally, stitched up like a corpse. She had not dressed. Her skin was pale from blood loss and her eyes—he had to double take to check if she was actually a zombie. Dead eyes gazed back at him. There was no light there, just a sense of cold hatred. Her step faltered as she went to him, but Lecter caught her under the arm.

Sally paused and cocked her head. She put the Harpy back down in favour of the needle and thread that Lecter had already used to stitch her up. Lecter raised an eyebrow, but it was not for him to judge. This one belonged to Sally.

Slowly, deliberately, she threaded the needle through David's bottom lip and made sure the knot was large enough that it wouldn't slip through. He winced, but Sally could see that he was trying to stay strong. He wouldn't last.

Taking her time, indulging, she sewed his lips tightly shut. Lecter tied off the thread for her. When it was done, Sally looked questioningly up at him. David's eyes darted between them, desperately trying to discern the conversation passing unspoken in their gaze.

"Bowels in, or bowels out?" Lecter murmured. The corner of Sally's lips tugged up as she looked at David.

"What do you think?"

His eyes grew wide, but he couldn't move. Sally appeared to consider things for a moment.

"Bowels out, I think." She quickly slashed lengthways across his belly, forcibly but not too deeply. She needed his bowels to be intact.

Lecter smirked as she reached in unhesitatingly, finding each end of the small intestine and severing it. David had started to yell incomprehensibly through his stitches, watching his blood draining from the gaping wound. Sally knew that she had to act quickly before he passed out. She tied the entrails into a noose, and slipped it over his head. He was struggling quite violently now. She then threw the makeshift rope over the bed head and tied it to the bed frame, hoping it wouldn't break prematurely.

Lecter had picked up the scalpel and stationed himself on one side of the bed. Sally was at the other. In one final attempt at salvation, on the brink of unconsciousness and death, David looked at her, deeply, lovingly, pathetically. She understood his muffled plea.

" _Please_."

Several moments passed. Sally reached up and put her hand to his cheek, stroking her thumb across his skin. It was a moment of affection; a moment of weakness, but one which she allowed herself. She was in control now. And in that moment, her expression changed.

"You disgust me."

As one, Sally and Lecter sliced through the bonds on David's wrists and he fell, caught in the noose of his own intestines. It was not long before he stopped twitching.

Sally remained still for many minutes. She examined David's body, noting how it changed in the moments after death. His eyes bulged, blood vessels burst with the pressure. Blood stopped flowing from his torso, and turned into a steady drip, then just the occasional drop. Bruising happened quickly from the ligature around his neck, which stood out starkly against skin that was steadily paling from lack of bloodflow. Sally slowly reached out to touch his arm. He was already cold.

* * *

Lecter helped her with the body. They dismembered it, wrapping each piece carefully in a rubbish bag (Lecter always kept a stash in his car. For emergencies.). Most of the waste from David's body had been caught on the plastic sheets that he had so considerably provided. For the rest, Sally stripped the carpet from the floor, and then scrubbed and sandpapered the boards underneath until her fingers bled. She let a few drops fall. How amusing to watch the police puzzling over how it got there, if they ever found it.

The first tendrils of dawn were creeping in by the time they had finished cleaning. Every trace of their presence was now removed – Lecter was very thorough. He had wrapped Sally's torso in a roll of bandages he had found in the bathroom. It was nothing more than another stopgap measure, but she was determined to be involved in every part of the process. She was incredibly weak, but did what she could.

While cleaning, Sally found the attic. It was barely more than a crawl space, but Lecter brought in a chair and pulled out the contents. There were two cardboard boxes. One was full of journals, containing David's notes on, and sketches of, women. There were ten journals, dating back six years.

The other box held two smaller, more ornate looking containers. Carved from a dark, reddish wood, they were beautiful. Lecter shook his head at Sally's unspoken question; no, she could not take them. That would be theft. Theft was rude.

One held locks of hair. All different colours, all tied neatly so that they wouldn't tangle.

In the other box were a few photos, of David as a child. In one, he was standing next to the woman that Sally recognised from the photo in the lounge. _So,_ she mused, _it was his mother_. There was also a silver locket on a chain. It was not beautiful, or ornate. It was a small oval of metal, with a clasp, and nothing inside. When Lecter wasn't looking, Sally pocketed it. She knew that he would know; but also that he would let it happen.

They piled the rubbish bags into the boot of Lecter's car and drove off into the sunrise before the world began to stir.

* * *

Sally sat at her desk, staring blankly into the empty paper in her hands. The same position she'd been in for almost an hour. The clock chimed downstairs. A different chime, she noticed. A different clock.

Thoughts and memories flickered past. They never stopped. Her eyes landed on the silver bracelet around her wrist. She had caught Lecter glancing at it in the car on the drive home. The metal was cool against her skin. Calming her. A gift.

Finally, she picked up the pen. She couldn't even bring herself to write his name.

 _You changed me, in ways I couldn't have imagined. You taught me how to be strong. For better or for worse, I will always carry a part of you with me._

 _And yet, you will always be my biggest… disappointment._

Sally wiped her eyes, but they were dry. She had no tears left.

Lecter didn't even blink when she reappeared downstairs. Nor did he raise an eyebrow when she went to the fireplace, tore up the paper in her hands, and threw the pieces into the flames. Against his better judgement, he did not raise a hand to stop her when she went to the liquor cabinet, extracted a bottle of scotch (in her defence, she chose the least expensive), and sat down next to him on the sofa. She took a swig straight from the bottle, coughed a little when it hit the back of her throat. Turned her eyes on Lecter, daring him to judge her, but suddenly he was deeply immersed in his book. Sally settled back against the cushions and drank deeply, her other hand clutching the locket around her neck that held a lock of his hair. That night, Lecter taught her how to cook for the first time.


End file.
